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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



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THE 



MUSEUM 



RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE: 



DESIGNED TO 



ILLUSTRATE RELIGIOUS TRUTH. 

EDITEDBY 

MARCUS E. CROSS. 



Religimi's all. Descending from the skies 
To wretched man, the goddess in her left 
Holds out this world, and In her right the next, 
Rel'gion! Providence! an after state! 
Here is firm footing; here is solid rock! 
This can support us ; all is sea besides. 
His eye the good man fastens on the skies 
And Lids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. 

Young. 

** Est brevitate opus ut currat sententia." 
Let brevity despatch the rapid thought. 




PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED BY J. WHETHAM, 

144 CHESTNUT STREET. 

183 9. 



zBnso 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1S39, by 

Marcus E. Cross, 

in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Eastern District of 

Pennsylvania. 



PRINTED BY T. K. AND P. O. COLLINS. 
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON PHILADELPHIA. 



PREFACE. 



In the preparation of this little volume, the editor has desired 
to consult particularly the circumstances of a numerous portion 
of the community who have but little time for extended investiga- 
tion on any subject. Immersed in various kinds of business, and 
eng-aged in the stirring scenes of life, they are not inclined to 
wade through huge volumes to winnow out the wheat from the 
chaff, and thus to get valuable knowledge. They will seize hold 
of a small volume w^hich conveys important truth in an interesting 
manner, and will read it with interest, and lay up valuable facts, 
maxims, and principles, for future use. 

At the same time that he has desired to furnish such a collec- 
tion of articles as convey important truth, in an interesting and 
eno-aorinor style, he would do nothino^ to vitiate the taste of the 
age. He w^ould carefully exclude every false principle, and every 
thing calculated to dissipate the mind, and lead it away from the 
great end of its being. " He would unite holiness to the Lord 
under all that is beautiful and picturesque, majestic aiid sublime 
in nature. He would have every garland and chaplet which the 
literature of the country weaves, composed of the fragrant leaves 
of the tree of life." 

The only merit which the editor claims for his own pieces is 
that which arises from the intrinsic importance of the subjects 
themselves. Prepared, as they have been, in a short time, and 
amid other pressing engagements, he is far from supposing that 
he has done justice to the discussion of the subjects. But he 
believes that truths and important principles, are presented in 
them, though perhaps in some cases buried in rubbish. 

The union of moral and religious culture with mental^ which 
the editor has discussed in one article, is a subject of surpassing 
interest at this day of feverish excitement, hurried action, and 
skeptical influence. The writer has only touched on a few of the 
great principles connected with this subject, just sufficient to show 
how vital is this principle of education in its bearings on the wel- 

3 



4 PREFACE. 

fare of individuals and nations. If we would shun the rock on 
which other republics have split, w^e must enthrone in the hearts 
of our people the sacred influence of the Bible. 

But why write any thing more about China ? Have not too 
many books been already written in relation to that people ? To 
such inquiries I would reply : In the first place, China is assum- 
ing- great importance as a field of missionary exertions; and it is 
highly important that correct information be spread out exten- 
sively before the people, and in various ways, in regard to that 
immense empire; and that the church, which is slumbering over 
a perishing world, be roused to the discharge of her duty in 
respect to those teeming millions, who are " perishing for lack 
of vision." In the next place, though much has been ably writ- 
ten on this subject, yet it is spread over so vast a surface, that 
comparatively few will ever take the trouble to gather it up, and 
bring it before the mind in such a way as to make a distinct im- 
pression. The editor has thought that an article which should 
imbody the most interesting facts and views in relation to the 
condition and prospects of China, in a form accessible to all, and 
requiring but a few hours' attention, was a desideratum at this 
time. He very cheerfully admits his incompetency to do full 
justice to the plan ; but if it should only have the effect to 
awaken a deeper interest in the cause of missions in a few minds, 
he will feel richly repaid for his labour. 

The articles from other writers are on important subjects ; and 
the principal part of them from the pens of those who have esta- 
blished a high reputation as authors in the department of Chris- 
tian literature. Their views are sound, and they have handled 
their themes in an able and interesting manner. 

In the selection of materials for this w^ork, the editor has not 
confined himself to any section of the Christian church, w^hich 
should give it the appearance of a sectarian work. He would 
repudiate that narrow spirit that looks upon Christian societies as 
rival empires, each aiming to raise itself on the ruins o^ the others ,• 
and would cherish a spirit of Christian union and liberality. 

To the blessing of that Being, under whose guidance the 
feeblest instrumentality may secure the choicest moral influences, 
he commits this little book, with the humble hope that in the 
great day it. may unfold some blessed results on immortal minds, 

M. E. C. 

Philadelphia, 



CONTENTS, 



No. PACE 

Preface , 3 

I. — The pre-eminent Value of the Bible. — Hox. Alexander 

H. EVEBETT 7 

II. — A Vision of the Church. — Rev. Gardiner Spring, D.D. 33 

III.— The Perils of Infidelity 52 

IV. — Plan of Reading — Rev. Joel Hawes, D.D. 95 

V. — Mental and Moral Culture combined, the only true Basis 

of Education. — Marcus E. Cross 115 

VI. — The Drunkard reclaimed. — Mrs. Harriet B. Stowe.. 139 

VII.— Early Piety.— -Rev. William S. Plumer, D.D 154 

VIII. — Influence of a praying Mother 184 

IX.— A Plea for China.— Marcus E. Cross 190 

X. — The merciless Creditor. — Rev. George A. Ratbold... 235 

XL— Striking Coincidences. — Rt. Rev. B. B. Smith, D.D 245 

XII. — Moral Influence of popular Descriptions of Battle Scenes. — 

Marcus E. Cross 247 

XIII. — The Glory of the Saviour contrasted with that of earthly 

Conquerors. — Rev. R. Babcock, D.D 250 

XIV. — The Existence of God. — Marcus E. Cross 252 

XV. — Seamen the best Missionaries 261 



No. I. 

THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE 
BIBLE. 

AN ADDRESS AT RUTGERS COLLEGE, 

BY ALEXANDERH. EVERETT. 



Gentlemen of the Societies, 

The occasion which has called us together, and which, 
by your appointment, has devolved upon me the agreeable, 
though arduous task of addressing you, is one of a deeply 
interesting character. For those of you who are more im- 
mediately concerned in the ceremonies of the day, it marks 
the dividing line between the walks of studious and active 
life. Thus far you have pursued your course under the 
eye of affectionate and careful friends, of tender parents, 
or watchful guardians and tutors. Their experience and 
love have supplied the want of the mature judgment wliich 
your youth denied you, and have brought you safely through 
many perils, to the portals of the great theatre of the world. 
To-day you pass the threshold. No longer looking up to 
others with implicit faith as the guides of your course, and 
as mainly responsible for its direction towards good or evil, 
you are now to go forward as independent, self-directed, 
self-sustaining men ; to discharge the duties, to encounter 
the labours and perils, and to reap the rewards and ho- 
nours which may have been reserved for you. Like some 
gallant ship, bound for distant regions, and freighted with 
a rich cargo, which the care of her owners has provided 
with all the necessary stores, and safely towed out of har- 
bour, you this day spread your canvass to the breeze, and 
launch out boldly upon the broad ocean of life. 

But though you are now to go forth and pursue your 
course as independent responsible men, you go not forth 

7 



8 MUSEUM or RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

alone. The friends, whose care and kindness watched over 
your earlier years, are still to accompany and aid you as 
counsellors. They are now assembled to witness, with 
affectionate and eager interest, your departure from the re- 
treats of preparatory study, and to welcome you to the open 
field of manly exertion. They are to co-operate with you 
ill its toils ; to sustain you, as far as may be, in its perils ; 
to sympathize with you in good and in evil fortune. As 
you advance in life, new relations of a dearer and tenderer 
kind than any that you have yet formed await you. A 
home of your own creation — the true temple of happiness 
and virtue — will receive you into its charmed circle, and 
bind you with new and delightful ties to your brother men. 
It is also your fortune to have your birth in a land of equal 
laws, and of wise and well-administered political institu- 
tions. Your country spreads over you her broad protect- 
ing shield, to guard you from all injustice or oppression at 
home or abroad ; secures to you unimpaired the fruits of 
your industry ; lays open to your enterprise, unfettered by 
monopoly or privilege, every branch of useful and honour- 
able labour, and holds out to your noble ambition her high- 
est places of trust and honour as the rewards of zealous 
and successful exertion in her service. In a still more 
elevated sphere, the All-seeing Eye watclies over you with 
a love surpassing that of friends, parents, or protectors, and 
will make all changes and chances work together for good 
for those who love him and keep his commandments. 

It is, therefore, under happiest auspices, gentlemen and 
friends, that you this day go forth from the shades of aca- 
demic retirement to the walks of busy life. You ^o forth, 
as well you may, with fresh and buoyant spirits. You look 
forward with hope and confidence to the future. To the 
eye of ingenuous youth the world appears in prospect like 
some enchanted landscape of perennial verdure, adorned 
with fairest roses, and glittering with the fresh dews of the 
morning. 

" Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr hlows, 

While proudly riding o*er the azure realm, 
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes, 

Youth at the prow, and Pleasure at the helm." 

For you, gentlemen, may no clouds overspread this bright 
prospect ! May no disappointment blast the promise of so 
fresh a spring ! May the highest hopes and wishes of your 



THE TKE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 9 

friends be more than realized in your future course ! May 
your country hereafter register your names among those 
of her worthy and well-beloved children ! And may the 
great Being, in whose hands are the issues of all events, 
receive you, on the final day of account, to the rewards of 
good and faithful servants ! 

In executing the task which you liave assigned me, I 
would gladly say something to enforce upon your minds 
the motives to upright and honourable conduct that result from 
the various considerations to which I have now alluded. 
Of these motives, the highest, the purest, and, if duly 
weighed, the most effective and powerful, are those which 
are founded in religion. When we view the mind, not as 
a mere ephemeral form of matter, but as a substantial in- 
telligence, — kindred in some sense, as we are permitted to 
say, to the High and Holy One that inhabiteth eternity, — 
every pleasure, care, and duty, presents itself under a new 
aspect ; the ordinary temptations to vice lose their charm ; 
the passing troubles of the world are divested of their sting ; 
and a celestial day-spring illuminates the otherwise dark 
and dreary chaos of human existence. A full exposition 
of the nature of the religious motives to good conduct, 
would, however, be hardly appropriate to the present oc- 
casion, and still less so to the studies and pursuits of the 
present speaker. It belongs to the habitual duties of the 
sacred desk. The objects of our meeting are of a literary 
character, and naturally suggest for our reflections a theme 
of the same description. In accordance with this sugges- 
tion, and with a view, at the same time, to the high import- 
ance of religious influences on the minds of the young, I 
propose to offer, in the present address, a few remarks upon 
the literary and scientific character of the Scriptures. These 
ancient records, that imbody for us the religious spirit which, 
we may hope, is not entirely foreign to other forms of faith, 
are venerable and interesting under every point of view. 
Their most important aspect is that under which they are 
considered as the symbols and assurances of divine truth ; 
but regarded merely as literary monuments, they are not 
only the most ancient and curious, but, I may safely say, 
the most extraordinary and valuable in the whole compass 
of literature. *' Independently of the divine origin of the 
Scriptures," says the accomplished and clear-headed Sir 
William Jones, '* I have found in them more true wisdom, 



10 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

more practical good sense, a warmer benevolence, and 
a higher strain of thought and poetry than I have met 
with in any other work that I have perused, or indeed all 
other works put together." In this opinion I entirely con- 
cur. On a subject so extensive you will, of course, not 
expect a complete and regular disquisition. I can only offer 
a few imperfect hints, which, for the sake of some appearance 
of method, I will arrange under the three heads into which 
the illustrious Bacon divides the whole field of learning, 
Philosophy, Poetry, and History. 

1. The philosophy of the Scriptures is at once sublime 
and simple. It satisfies the highest aspirations of the high- 
est minds, and it falls within the comprehension of the 
humblest inquirer who honestly seeks to understand it. 
It embraces the material universe, with its glories and com- 
plicated system of 

" planets, suns, and adamantine spheres, 

Wheeling unshaken through the void immense ;" 

the moral world, where the ruling spirits of good and evil 
carry on a perpetual warfare, with alternate, and apparently 
not unequal advantage ; — the great problems that have at- 
tracted, exercised, and defied the severest study of genera- 
tion after generation : — it embraces them both with unshrink- 
ing grasp, and solves them with a single word. It carries 
home the sublime truth to the simple heart of the common 
believer with a clearness of conviction that Socrates and 
Cicero in their happiest hours of inspiration never knew. 
This word of power that solves these mighty and momen- 
tous problems, that carries home this cheering conviction 
to the believing heart, — need I say to you, gentlemen, — is 
God ! 

When from the merely spontaneous exercise of our intel- 
lectual and physical powers, we must turn the mind inward 
to reflection upon its own nature, and outward to an inquir- 
ing contemplation of the objects around us, we find our- 
selves part and parcel of a vast system. We ask with in- 
tense curiosity, with agonizing interest, *' What am 1 ? 
Whence came I ? What means this glorious panorama of 
ocean, air, and earth that I see around me,—- these splendid 
orbs that illuminate the day and night, — these lesser lights 
that twinkle and burn around tliem, — the seasons with their 
ever-changing round ? Who can tell me the secret of the being 
and working of this wondrous machinery ? Did necessity 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 11 

fix it firmly, as it is, from all eternity ? Has accident thrown 
it together to remain till some other accident shall reduce it 
to nothing, or did some master-workman adapt it, with in- 
telligent design, to some great and good end? If so, what 
means this dismal shade of evil that overshadows with its 
dim eclipse so large a portion of this good and fair creation ? 
What relation do I bear individually to the grand whole ? 
Am I a mere ripple on the boundless ocean of being, swell- 
ing into life for a moQient and then subsiding forever, or is 
this curiously compacted frame the abode of a substantial, 
immortal mind, destined to exist hereafter through countless 
ages of happiness or misery?" 

The greatest and wisest men of all ages and countries, 
have undertaken to answer these questions in various ways, 
but generally with slender success. One tells us that the 
origin of all things is in water, another that it is in fire ; a 
third places it in the earth, and a fourth in the air. Epicurus 
resolves the universe into primitive atoms, while Zeno fixes* 
it firmly in the brazen bonds of necessity. In regard to the 
problem of the moral world, opinions are equally various. 
In one system fate is the supreme arbiter, and chance is 
another. Some acknowledge the existence of gods, but 
place them apart in some remote celestial sphere, where 
they live on, regardless of the stir and bustle of this lower 
world. A few, more wise than the rest, obtain some faint 
glimpse of the truth, of which, however, they avow that 
they feel no certain assurance. All is doubt, uncertainty, 
error. There is no absurdity so great, says Cicero, that 
some distinguished philosopher has not made it the basis of 
his theory. The labours of modern inquirers have not been 
attended with better results. They have terminated in re- 
viving successfully, one after another, the exploded follies 
of antiquity. One denies the existence of mind, and an- 
other that of matter, while a third doubts the reality of 
either. All — I mean all whose researches have been con- 
ducted independently of Scripture — deny the reality of 
moral distinctions, and reduce man to a level with the ani- 
mals around him. Such are the noble and consolatory 
views which the wisdom of Europe proclaimed within our 
own day, through the mouths of her ablest and most judi- 
cious apostles, as the last results of the labours of all pre- 
ceding ages upon the great problem of God, man, and the 
universe. 



12 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

If we turn to the teachers of the various religions, the 
scene is, if possible, still less agreeable. Stocks and stones ; 
the beasts of the field, and the fowls of the air ; the vilest 
reptiles ; nay, the very vegetable products that serve for 
daily food, are held up by the most learned and civilized 
nations as objects of reverence and arbiters of human for- 
tune. Enlightened Egypt, in her brightest days of power, 
wisdom, and glory, enrolled the beetle and the onion on the 
list of her divinities. The mythology of Hindostan is, if 
possible, still more monstrous. Revolting or childish fables 
are presented as solutions of the great problem of the uni- 
verse. The world reposes on the back of an elephant, and 
the elephant, again, upon a tortoise, which finally rests upon 
nothing. Even in the elegant creations of the brilliant fancy 
of Greece, we discern little more than the sports of infancy 
playing in wantonness w^ith ideas, of the importance of 
which it is utterly unconscious. In its severer moods, the 
Greek mythology presents the most desolating views of" the 
destiny and character of our race. Take, for example, the 
fable of Prometheus : — On the side of a rocky precipice 
of immeasurable height, a human being extends his giant 
length, writhing in agonies of extrem^est torture. Chains 
of iron attach him to the cliff, while a vulture of enormous 
size, hoveringover him, perpetually tears his entrails, which 
are constantly renewed by the supernatural fiat of destiny. 
This is the Titan Prometheus, as described by the gloomy 
genius of Eschylus. His crime was, that he had given life 
to human figures of clay of his own formation, by touching 
them with fire v/hich he had stolen from lieaven. He is 
intended as an emblem of humanity. The moral is, that 
wretchedness is the lot of man, and that superiority of in- 
tellect, though employed for the most beneficial objects, 
only dooms its possessor to intenser miser3^ The way- 
ward genius of Byron, who had chiefly sought for specu- 
lative truth in the sources to which I have alluded above, 
was captivated by this heart-rending fable, which he seems 
t^) have regarded as the vehicle of important truth, and has 
dressed it up in some of his finest poetry. 

" Titan ! to whose immortal eyes 
The sorrows of n^ortalit}', 
Seen in their sad reality, 

Were not as things that gods despise ; 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 13 

What was thy pity's recompense 1 
A sufifering, silent, but intense : 
The rock, the vulture, and the chain : 
All that the proud can feel of pedn ; 
The agony they do not show, 
The suffocating sense of wo. 
That speaks but in its loneliness, — 

And then is silent, lest the sky 
Should have a listener, nor will sigh 

Unless its voice be echoless." 

All the errors, absurdities, and fables to which I have 
now alluded, have been sustained and illustrated in ancient 
and in modern times, with the whole power of the human 
understanding in its most improved condition. Eloquence, 
logic, learning, and wit, have been employed to make the 
worse appear the better reason, until the honest inquirer, 
who seeks for truth through the mazes of these controver- 
sies, finds himself completely bewildered and hopeless of 
arriving at any satisfactory result, were there no other dif- 
ficulty to be encountered but the extent of the ground to be 
gone over. To crown the whole, the severest and most 
celebrated metaphysician of modern times affirms, that the 
truth cannot, in fact, be discovered by the mere use of the 
understanding in the ordinary sense of the term ; and in 
proof of his assertion furnishes what he considers complete 
and unanswerable demonstrations on both sides of all the 
great questions that most deeply interest the mind, at the 
head of which is the existence of God. 

From the chaos of controversy, doubt, confusion, impos- 
ture, and error, we turn to the Scriptures. Here, gentle- 
men, we find ourselves at once in a new atmosphere. The 
very first sentence removes all difficulty. What do I say ? 
The light breaks upon us before the sentence is finished. 
The first half-sentence settles at once and forever the great 
problem of the universe. In the beginning God. No 
metaphysics ; no logic ; no rhetoric ; no tedious induction 
from particular facts ; no laboured demonstration a priori 
or a posteriori ; no display of learning ; no appeal to au- 
thority, — but just the plain, simple, naked, unsophisticated 
truth : In the beginning God. 

With the utterance of this little word, an ocean of light 
an3 splendour bursts at once upon the universe, and pene- 
trates its darkest recesses with living beams of hope and joy. 
Order, harmony, intelligent design for happiest ends, take 

2 



14 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the place of unintelligible chaos and wild confusion. A 
cheerful confidence in the wisdom and goodness of an All- 
Wise and Almighty Creator, is substituted for gloomy 
doubt and blank despair. Evil still remains, but how diffe- 
rent is its character ! In a universe of chance and fate, it 
is a blind, irresistible power, like the destiny of ancient 
fable : treading under its giant feet with remorseless fury, 
the fairest flowers of the natural and moral creation. '* In a 
godless universe," says Madame de Stael, " the fall of a 
sparrow would be a nt subject for endless and inconsolable 
sorrow." With an Almighty Father at the helm, evil, phy- 
sical and moral, puts on the character of discipline. We 
cannot, it is true, penetrate the necessity of its existence, or 
the nature of the good which it is intended to effect. We 
are tempted at first to exclaim with the eloquent sophist of 
Geneva, "Benevolent Being! where, then, is thy almighty 
power, I behold evil on the earth." But what then ? Does 
our limited intelligence comprehend the universe ? Can the 
infant at his mother's breast understand why the honied 
stream is removed from his lips, and a bitter draught of 
medicine substituted for it ? Does the little child realize 
why the kind father confines him in schools, — refuses him 
the indulgences which he thinks so delightful, inflicts upon 
him, perhaps, a severe punishment for some, to him, un- 
imaginable fault? To the child, the lapse of a few years 
makes all these mysteries clear; in the mean time, his con- 
fidence and love for his parents induce him to submit with 
undiminished cheerfulness, where he cannot understand. 
Shall the frail being of a day repose with less faith and hope 
upon the bosom of Omniscient and Omnipotent goodness ? 
How beautiful is the language, in which a late English 
writer expressed the eftect upon the inquiring mind, op- 
pressed with doubts and fears, of the introduction of an in- 
telligent principle into the theory of the universe. 

'* Foreshadows — say, rather, foresplendours of that truth, 
and beginning of truths, fell mysteriously upon my soul. 
Sweeter than day-spring to the shipwrecked in Nova Zem- 
bla ; — ah ! like a mother's voice to her little child, that 
strays bewildered, weeping in unknown tumults ; — like soft 
streamings of celestial music to my too exasperated heart, 
came that Evangile : the universe is not dead and demo- 
niacal — a charnel-house with spectres, but godlike, and my 
Father's." 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 15 

In the beginning God. This little phrase, then, gentle- 
men, solves in one word the problem of the universe. The 
same strain of thought runs through the whole volume ; but 
if it ended here, the system of speculative wisdom would 
be perfect. It suffers no subtraction : it admits no addition. 

In THE BEGINNING GoD. 

But knowledge is not every thing. We are not only in- 
telligent, but active beings. A complete system of phi- 
losophy must include the essence of practical, as well as 
speculative wisdom. Satisfied upon the theory of the uni- 
verse, I turn my views again homeward. I seek for a 
rule of practical conduct. What are my relations to the 
beings around me? How am I to act? W^hat am I to 
do ? Here, too, the schools are given up to inextricable 
doubt, disputation, and confusion ; and here again, the 
Scriptures interpose with another masterly solution, in a 
single word : Love. 

Interrogate the doctors, and you find their answers as 
various as their names. All agree in this : that the object 
in life is happiness, but how shall I attain it? AVherein 
resides this long-sought sumrnum bonura : this far-famed 
fair-and-good, of the Porch and the Academy ? Zeno 
stretches the inquirerontherack, and endeavours to persuade 
him that he is happy, by convincing him that pain is not an 
evil. Epicurus unlocks the blooming gardens of sensual 
indulgence. Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die. 
"Wonder at nothing," says Horace, ''that is the only 
way by which a man can make or keep himself happy." 
The son of Ammon seeks for happiness in the *' pride, 
pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," and weeps at 
last that he has only one world to conquer. The stu- 
dent thinks that he has found it in his library. *'When 
I am once fairly seated before a fine old parchment," says 
the disciple in Goethe's Faust, '* all Paradise opens be- 
fore me." But the master has already learned that of 
making many books there is no end ; and that much study 
is a weariness of the flesh. And what says the sweet 
songster of Twickenham, — the charming poet of the 
Essay on Man : — he whose life, according to a brother 
bard, was an even more endearing song than his writings ; 
and who, if this eulogy be true, had a right to judge of 
that in which he himself excelled ? Hear him addressing 
his celebrated " guide, philosopher and friend !" 



16 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

" O, Happiness ! our being's end and aim : 
Good ! Pleasure ! Ease ! Content ! whatever thy name : 
That something still that prompts the eternal sigh, 
For which we bear to live or dare to die ; 
Which still around us yet beyond us lies,— 
O'erlook'd, — seen double, — by the fool and wise. 
Plant of celestial grow^th ! if dropped below, 
Say in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow ! 
Fair opening to some court's propitious shrine, 
Or deep with diamonds in the flaming mine 1 
Twined with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield, 
Or reaped with iron harvests of the field 1 
Where grows ] where grows it not 1 If vain the toil, 
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil. 
Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere ; 
'Tis nowhere to be found or everywhere : 
'Tis nowhere to be bought, but always free. 
And fled from monarchs, St. John, dwells with thee !" 

Beautiful, brilliant, but, alas, too flattering eulogy! No, 
gentlemen ! happiness never dwelt in that troubled bosom 
where love of pleasure and ambition reigned supremely to 
the last. The guide, philosopher, and friend, whom our 
delightful, but too mistaken moralist has addressed in these 
beautiful verses, was never happy for a moment : no, not 
even in that hour of triumph when he gave the law as prime 
minister of England over half the globe, — when his elo- 
quence ruled in parliament, — when the seductive charm 
of his person and manner captivated all hearts in the saloon, 
and when the greatest wits and poets of England were 
proud to share the retirement of his leisure hours, and ex- 
hausted their finest strains of eloquence and song in his 
praise. Still less was he happy, when the charming 
Minstrel of the '' Essay on Man," composed under his 
instruction, and dedicated to him that celebrated poem ; and 
when fallen from his high estate, attainted of treason, barely 
permitted, after years of exile and poverty, to breathe his 
native air, and till his paternal acres, he destroyed the 
quiet which he might have enjoyed by unavailing efforts 
to grasp the glittering baubles which in his brilliant youth 
he had so easily won and so early lost ; and by efforts still 
less pardonable, and happily not less unavailing, to disturb 
the religious faith of his countrymen. No, gentlemen ! 
happiness dwells not in the propitious shine of courts, nor 
yet in the flaming depths of the diamond mine. It is not 
to be conquered on the battle-field ; nor is it gathered in, as 
the bard of Twickenham knew too well by his own ex- 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 17 

perience, with the richest harvest of Parnassian laurels. 
But the error lies still deeper. Happiness is not, as it is 
here represented, '' our being's end and aim." The object 
of life is improvement, progress, preparation for an infinite 
future. Happiness, so far as we enjoy it in this mingled 
state of being, is the indirect result of employing the proper 
means to effect these objects. Abandon then, gentlemen, 
the poet's treacherous guide, who was a wretched philo- 
sopher, and at best a very doubtful friend, Open the 
Scriptures, and you will there find that rule of practical 
conduct which he vainly sought to establish in so many 
beautiful, but too unsuccessful moral essays, revealed with 
unerring certainty in a single word : "I give unto you 
a new commandment, that ye love one another." 

What says the beautiful and original writer whom I just 
now quoted ? 

''There is in man a higher than love of happiness : he 
can do without happiness, and find blessedness. Was it 
not to preach forth this same Higher, that sages and mar- 
tyrs, the priest, and the poet, in all times have spoken and 
suffered, bearing testimony through life and through death, 
to the Godlike that is in man; and that in the Godlike only 
he hath strength and freedom? On the roaring billows of 
time thou art not ingulfed, but borne aloft to the azure 
of eternity. Love not pleasure ; — love God ! 

" Small is it that thou canst trample under foot the world 
with its injuries, as old Greek Zeno taught thee. Thou 
mayst love the world with its injuries and because of its 
injuries. For this a greater than Zeno was needed, and 
he too was sent. Our highest Orpheus walked in Judea 
eighteen hundred years ago. His sphere-melody, flowing 
in wild, native tones, took captive the ravished souls of 
men ; and being of a truth sphere-melody, still flows and 
sounds, though now with thousand-fold accompaniments 
and rich symphonies, through all our hearts, and modulates 
and divinely leads them. Sweep away the illusion of time. 
Glance, if thou hast eyes, from the near-moving cause to 
the far-distant mover. O ! could I transport thee direct 
from the beginnings to the endings, how were thy eyesight 
unsealed and thy heart set flaming in a light sea of celestial 
wonder. Then sawest thou that through every star, — 
through every grass-blade, — and most of all, through every 
living soul the glory of a present God still beams : — that 



IS MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

this fair universe, were it in the meanest portion thereof, is 
in very deed the star-domed city of God !" 

Such, gentlemen, is ihe philosophy of the Scriptures ; — 
a complete code of practical and speculative wisdom in two 
little words : a philosophy, original, profound, sublime : 
and, at the same time, clear to the common understanding, 
satisfactory to every uncorrupted heart. You will perceive, 
that I speak of this philosophy, not as a doctrine resting on 
the authority of Divine revelation, and recommended as 
such to our respect and belief. I look at it merely in its 
own intrinsic character, and point out to you the originality, 
completeness, and evident self-demonstrating truth, which 
distinguish it in both its parts from all the other systems 
which have engaged the attention of men. Let us now 
look for a moment at the poetry of the Bible. 

II. Here, gentlemen, we find ourselves at once in the 
midst of a new world of wonders. Poetry, in all its highest 
departments of sublimity, pathos, and beauty, is scattered 
through the pages of the sacred volume with a profusion, 
which we look for in vain in any other quarter. Here, too, 
" the highest heaven of invention," to use the language of 
Shakspeare, opens upon us at the very threshold. God 
said, Let there he lights and there teas light. What power 
of thought ! What simplicity of language ! The greatest 
critic of antiquity pronounces this passage, as I need not 
remind you, the finest specimen of the sublime which he 
had anywhere met with. Consider for a moment the 
variety and vastness of the images compressed into this 
little sentence ; — a universe weltering in blind and formless 
chaos ; — the breath of God moving mysteriously over the 
confused mass; — the word of power issuing unspoken 
from the depths of the Almighty mind, and followed in- 
stantaneously by the presence of the new and brilliant 
element. The least of these ideas would furnish a com- 
mon poet with pages of rhetoric. The record of creation 
compresses them all into a single line. God said, Let there 
he light, and there was light. How tame in comparison 
with this is even the splendid versification of the minstrel 
of Paradise Lost ! 

" God said, Let there be light ! and forthwith light 
Ethereal, first of things, creation pure, 
Sprang from the east, and through the azure vault 
To journey on its airy course began.'* 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 19 

Through this magnificent entrance we approach the 
blooming abode of our first parents. How charming, and 
yet how mysterious and mournful, considered merely under 
a poetical point of view, is this ancient eclogue ! Here 
again how various, and yet how striking are the images 
and thoughts expressed in a few short paragraphs ! A new 
race of beings, created by the will of God and formed after 
his image ; — tlieir innocence and happiness; — the freshness 
and beauty of the garden that is given them for a residence, 
with its various vegetable products, including the wondrous 
trees of knowledge and of life ; — the celestial beings, not 
•excepting the great creating Power himself, who disdains 
not to visit these yet unpolluted haunts in the cool of the 
evening ; — the insidious foe of man, sin, intruding its^ilf 
by stealth into this abode of bliss, and turning all its beauty 
into bitterness ; — finally, the sad reverse ; — the departure 
of the exiled pair, and the messenger of God stationed with 
his sword of flame at the gate of Eden to prevent their 
return. What a picture ! The highest reach of the human 
intellect in poetry, the Paradise Lost, is, I need not say, the 
mere filling up of this splendid outline ; — a filling up, 
completed — we might almost believe, from its perfection — 
with more than ordinary aid from that Divine Spirit, which 
the sublime minstrel invokes with so much earnestness 
at the outset. 

" Chiefly thou, great Spirit ! that dost prefer 
Before all places the upright heart and pure, 
Assist me, for thou know'st : Thou from the first 
Wast present, and with mighty wings outstretch'd. 
Dove-like, sat'st brooding o'er the vast abyss, 
And madest it pregnant : what in me is dark 
Illumine: what is low raise and support; 
That, to the height of this great argument, 
I may assert eternal Providence, 
And justify the ways of God to man." 

The same height of poetical excellence is sustained 
through every part of the Scriptures. The limits of the 
occasion prevent me from going into detail ; nor is it neces- 
sary upon a subject so familiar to you. Let me barely 
recall to your remembrance the charming narrative of the 
life of Joseph, which combines with the strongest internal 
evidence of its literal truth all the interest of the most pathe- 



20 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

tic romance ; — the beautiful pastoral of Ruth ; — the sublime 
tragedy of Job ; — the splendid lyrical effusions of the 
earlier and later bards that are scattered like gems over the 
rich groundwork of the historical and prophetical books ; — 
the treasures of thought concentrated in the Proverbs ; — the 
impassioned tenderness that breathes through the love songs 
of Solomon ; — finally, and above all, the magnificent pro- 
ductions of the '' Monarch Minstrel " himself; — a collection 
of odes, unequalled, unapproached, I may say, even in mere 
literary merit, in any other language ; odes before which 
Pindar and Horace, and the modern lyrical poets of highest 
fame hide their diminished heads ; odes, whose essential 
power and beauty, no dress, however unworthy, can wholly 
disguise — which even in the bald imitations of the modern 
versifiers thrill with delight, and exalt with religious 
rapture every feeling heart in the whole population of 
Christendom. 

It would be impossible, as I remarked just now, to dis- 
cuss, however summarily, on the present occasion, all the 
various topics suggested by this brilliant and extended se- 
ries of literary works. In order to fix our ideas, let us, 
nevertheless, bring before us for a moment, a detached pas- 
sage from this grand national library — this encyclopedia, 
for such it may, in fact, be called, of Hebrew literature. 
Take, for example, the lament of David upon the death of 
Saul and Jonathan. There are few incidents in the course 
of human affairs more affecting than the fall of a young 
warrior in battle. Who among us has not felt his heart 
melt within him like water, at the recollection of the fate 
of our own Warren, cut off prematurely in the bloom of 
youth and beauty on the first and last of his fields ? Jona- 
than was the beloved friend of David. For Saul, to whom 
he was indebted in the first instance for his political ad- 
vancement, although he had afterwards much reason to 
complain of the causeless jealousy and even persecution of 
the wayward king, he had ever cherished the sentiments of 
respect and gratitude, which were natural, under such cir- 
cumstances, to his generous and elevated character. Their 
fall awakens all his feelings ; and he pours them out with 
the pure taste and concentrated power that belong to his 
style, in perhaps the most touching of all his poems. 

" The beauty of Israel is slain upon his high places ! How are the 
mighty fallen ! 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 21 

^* Tell it not in Gath ! Publish it not in the streets of Askelon ; lest 
the daughters of the Philislines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncir- 
cumcised triumph. 

"Ye mountains of Gilboa ! let there be no dew, neither rain upon you, 
nor fruits for olFerings ! for there the shield of the mighty one was vile- 
ly cast away ; the shield of Saul as if he had not been anointed with oil. 

" From the blood of the slain, from the battle of the mighty, the bow 
of Jonathan turned not back, the sword of Saul returned not empty. 

" Saul and Jonathan were loving and pleasant in their lives, and in 
their deaths they were not divided. They were swifter than eagles: they 
were stronger than lions. 

"Ye daughters of Israel! weep over Saul, who clothed you in scarlet, 
who put ornaments of gold upon your apparel ! 

" How are the mighty fallen in the midst of the battle ! O, Jonathan ! 
thou wast slain on thy high places. 

" I am distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan ! very dear hast thou 
been unto me ; thy love for me was wonderful, passing the love of women. 

"How are the mighty fallen, and the weapons of war perished !" 

III. Such, gentlemen, are the richness and value of the 
poetry of the Bible. I had selected one or two other pas- 
sages, not inferior to that which I have recited as specimens, 
but the limits of the occasion compel me to omit them. 
Let us now, in conclusion, glance for a moment at some 
portions of the sacred record which belong to the depart- 
ment of history. 

Here, gentlemen, we find ourselves carried back once 
more to the opening passage, which I have already cited, 
as imbodying the essence of the philosophy of the Bible, 
and exhibiting, at the same time, in the judgment of the 
most celebrated critics, the noblest example of the sublime 
in poetry. It is also the record of the most important facts 
in the history of the world. The creation from nothing of 
the unformed elements of the universe ; — their separation 
and arrangement ; — the origin of man ; — the introduction 
of the deadly power of sin — its gradual prevalence through- 
out the extended population of the earth, and the final sub- 
mersion of a guilty race under the waters of a universal 
deluge ; — these are the grand physical and moral revolutions 
that occupy the first chapters of the Bible. In all this, gen- 
tlemen, there is much that transcends tlie bounds of human 
reason. The existence of a great, uncreated mind ; — crea- 
tion ; — the presence of evil in a system formed and govern- 
ed by Omniscient and Almighty goodness, are facts beyond 
our comprehension. What then? Can we comprehend 
the least of the ordinary operations of nature that are going 



22 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

on around us ? Is not the act of my own will by which I 
lift my arm as incomprehensible as the existence of God ? 
Is not the articulate voice that bursts from my own lips, as 
great a miracle to me as the word of power that raised a 
universe out of nothing ? We are surrounded on all sides 
by mystery. The dew-drop that glitters in the morning 
sunbeam, the animalculae floating in it, whose existence can 
only be detected by a microscope, are each a miniature 
world of wonders. Why, then, should we be surprised 
that a veil of mystery, which human reason seeks in vain 
to penetrate, overhangs the cradle of the universe ? Let us 
rather be surprised at the presumption of beings who at- 
tempt with their little limited intelligence to grasp infinity. 
Suffice it to say, that the results of experience, when they 
bear upon the Scripture record, entirely concur with it. 
The chronology of the different nations of the old world, 
though in some cases apparently at variance with that of 
the Bible, is found on more correct examination to confirm 
it. The last and most thorough researches in geology, 
conducted by the illustrious Cuvier, verify in the minutest 
particulars the Scripture account of the great revolutions of 
the globe. 

From these grand and mysterious events, we pass to 
otliers of a different character. After unfolding the won- 
ders of creation, the Scripture record takes up a less exten- 
sive but still most interesting theme, the history of the He- 
brew nation, the most remarkable that has ever appeared 
upon the earth. We trace it through the successive periods 
of its origin, progress, and maturity to its final destruction. 
The commencement carries us back to a beautiful scene of 
pastoral simplicity. We behold the venerable patriarchs 
encamped in Arab fashion on the green banks of the Jor- 
dan. As the setting sun illuminates the landscape with its 
ruddy glow, we see them seated in the doors of their white 
tents to contemplate its glory. Their sons and daughters — 
their kindred, domestics, and friends — are gathered around 
them. Flocks and herds are returning from their distant 
pastures. Every thing indicates repose, abundance, and 
simple happiness. In the background of the picture, we 
discern, approaching slowly, a youth of comely appearance 
accompanying a fair maiden and their attendants. It is the 
son of tlie Patriarch. He went forth to meditate at even- 
tide, and he has met the promised bride whom the care of 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 23 

his affectionate parents has provided for him. Her love 
shall console him for the loss of his mother. As she reaches 
the tent, the young men and maidens crowd with delight 
around the expected guest ; the Patriarch receives her with 
grave cordiality, and a general joy pervades the whole en- 
campment. 

What a charming spectacle ! These celebrated plains of 
Palestine, afterwards the seat of so many rich and power- 
ful cities, the scenes of so many wondrous and world-im- 
portant events, are at this time frequented only by a few 
tribes of wandering shepherds. So pure are the lives of 
the patriarchs, that the messengers of heaven condescend 
at times, as of old in the garden of Eden, to partake their 
hospitality. Even here, however, sin and misery are 
not wholly absent. The patriarchal families are disturbed 
with internal jealousies, and embroiled with troublesome 
neighbours. They witness with dismay the terrible judg- 
ments inflicted on the corrupt cities of the lake. In the 
mean time, however, <^eir wealth and numbers increase. 
In the next generation they are surrounded by troops of re- 
tainers, mamtain relations of peace and war with neighbour- 
ing states, and appear already as shepherd princes. 

The scene now changes to the banks of the Nile. A 
famine compels the patriarchal families to take refuge in 
Egypt, where one of their leaders has already been station- 
ed to prepare the way for them, and by his extraordinary- 
sagacity and purity of conduct, has raised himself from the 
condition of a slave to that of prime minister. What a 
contrast in the aspect of every thing around them with the 
country they have left ! Splendid cities, temples, palaces, 
and obelisks of ever-during granite take the place of the 
rocky hills and green valleys of Palestine. Instead of the 
miniature Jordan passing with its slender tide from one lake 
to another, the magnificent Nile pours, from its undiscover- 
ed mountain sources, its swelling flood through a channel 
of a thousand miles to the ocean. This celebrated stream, 
which now works its way through masses of ruins, its 
waters undisturbed by»any navigation, except the skiff of 
the occasional traveller, was- then the thoroughfare of busi- 
ness for a large portion of the civilized world. These 
massive ruins, which even in their forlorn abandonment 
overwhelm the observer with unmingled wonder, were then, 
in their complete state, the brilliant abodes of wealth and 



24 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

luxury, swarming with inhabitants, rich in all the treasures 
of art and science, which were carried at that time to near- 
ly as high a degree of perfection as they are with us. 
Thebes, now a granite quarry of roofless walls and broken 
columns, half buried in sand, was then a mighty metropo- 
lis, sending forth, as described by Homer some centuries 
afterwards, a hundred war-chariots from each of her hun- 
dred gates. As the solitary wanderer from Europe now 
surveys these unequalled monuments, the pyramids, the 
obelisks with their mysterious hieroglyphical inscriptions, 
the temples and colonnades measured not by the foot or the 
yard, but by the league and square mile, he is lost in amaze- 
ment, and is half tempted to attribute them to some giant 
race of Titans or Cyclops, far transcending in dimensions 
and strength the puny beings that now people the globe. 

Such was the state of Egypt at the time when the patri- 
archal families took refuge there. It would be instructive 
and interesting to trace their history in detail through its 
subsequent periods, but the limits c^ the occasion render it 
impossible, and the theme is already familiar to you. Its 
outline is too correctly given in the brief sketch by a recent 
poet of the general history of nations : 

** There is a moral in all human things, 
'Tis but the sad rehearsal of the past ; 
First freedom, and then glory ; when these fail, 
Vice, — wealth, — corruption,— barbarism at last." 

Adventurous, enterprising, religious in their earlier days, 
wild and warlike under Joshua, Saul, and David — luxurious 
under Solomon, the Hebrews soon sink into corruption, and 
are crushed and carried away captive by the neighbouring 
states. This catastrophe closes the career of the nation, 
which can hardly be said to have survived in the miserable 
remnant who returned from Assyria, and maintained for 
several centuries a lingering struggle for a wretched pro- 
vincial existence, which was finally extinguished in blood 
by the overwhelming power of Rome. The later pages 
of the sacred record are occupied \¥ith the wailings of the 
exiles over their unhappy destiny, — their lamentations for 
their lost country, — their stern denunciations of their op- 
pressors, and their glowing prophecies of a future day of 
greatness and glory, which is to arise in some mysterious 
way on their posterity; — prophecies, which, I need not 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 25 

<!ay, the progress of tl"re Christian religion has converted 
into history. 

In what sweet and melting strains the ancient Hebrew 
lyre echoes the lament of these heart-broken patriots : 

" By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept ; yea, we wept ag 
we renismbared Zion." 

The skih^ul, though wayw^ard hand of Byron has called 
forth from the same instrument a tone of soul-subduing 
pathos in his Hebrew melodies. 

" The wild gazelle on Judah's hills 

Exulting yet may bound, 
And drink from all the thousand rills 

That gush on holy ground. 
Her airy step and glorious eye 
May pass in tauntless transport by. 

A step as fleet, an eye more bright, 

Has JuJah witnessed there, 
And o'er her scenes of lost delight 

Inhabitants more fair. 
The cedars wave on Lebanon, 
But Judah's lovelier maids are gone. 

More blessM each palm that shades her plains 

Than Judah's scattered race. 
For taking root it there remains 

In solitary grace. 
It may not quit its place of birth, 
It will not thrive in other earth. 

But v>'e must wander \.lthenngly 

In other climes to die ; 
And where our fathers' ashes be, 

Our own may never lie. 
The temple has not left a stone, 
And mackery sits on Salem's throne." 

How grand and lofty is the strain in which the bard of 
Twickenham — sustained for once by an inspiration nobler 
than his own, — bursts forth, as it were, in spite of himself, 
into a rapture of sublimity, in depicting after the Hebrew 
poets the glories of the promised Messiah ! 

" Rise ! crowned with light ! imperial Salem, rise ! 
Exalt thy towering head, and lift thine eyes ; 
See a long race thy hallowed courts adorn ; 
See future sons and daughters yet unborn, 
In crowding ranks on every side arise, 
Demanding life, — impatient for the sides. 



26 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

See barbarous nations at th)'' gates attend, 
Walk in thy light, and in thy temples bend. 

See thy bright altars throng'd with prostrate kings, 
And heaped with odonrs of Sabean springs ; 
For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, 
And seeds of gold on Ophir's mountains glow. 
See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, 
And burst upon thee as a flood of day. 

No more the rising sun shall gild the morn, 
Nor evening Cynthia fill her silver horn ; 
But lost, dissolved in thy superior rays 
One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze 
O'ei-flow thy courts : the Light himself shall shine 
Revealed, and God's eternal day be thine. 

The seas shall waste — the skies in smoke decay, 
Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away. 
But fix'd thy word — thy saving power remains ! 
Thy realm for ever lasts ! thy own Messiah reigns !" 

No common verses these, gentlemen ! and yet there 
are persons who tell us that Pope was not a poet. Had he 
always written thus, I think there could have been but lit- 
tle question about it. Religion, gentlemen, after all, seems 
to awaken the genius of poetry quite as effectually, as well 
as to much better purpose, than the praise of war or wine. 
Her snow-white robe and sparkling diadem, are, methinks 
a not less attractive vesture for the muse than the rosy chap- 
lets of the banqueting room, or the transparent tissues of 
the half-uncovered Venus. It would give me pleasure, 
gentlemen, to dwell more at length on these seductive to- 
pics, but the limits of the occasion compel me to hurry to 
a close. Let us, however, glance for a moment at some of 
the characters that figure most prominently in the strange 
eventful history to which I have now so briefly adverted. 

What an array, in fact, of interesting personages crowd 
the pages of this varied narrative ! Remark, I pray you, 
the grave majesty of Abraham ; — the unsullied purity and 
high political talent of Joseph ; — Moses, the lawgiver, poet, 
and father of his people ; — the graceful piety of the infant 
Samuel gradually maturing into the dignity of the priestly 
ruler: — the wild and frenzied heroism of Saul ; — the va- 
rious gifts and graces of the unrivaUed Monarch Minstr^^l, 
and the splendid pageant of his brilliant son and successor! 
How distinctly all these and a hundred other cliaracters stand 
out from the canvass, demonstrating by the strongest inter- 
nal evidence to every experienced eye, that they are not 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 27 

fancy pieces, but portraits from the life ! What charming 
apparitions of female grace and heroism beam forth from 
the midst of this throng of warriors, priests, and poets ! 
The beauty of Sarah, that subdued all hearts even at the 
brilliant court of Egypt ;— the touching self-devotion of the 
daughter of Jephthah ; — the poetical enthusiasm of Miriam ; 
— the masculine valour of Deborah and Judith ; — finally, 
the far-famed Egyptian bride, whose praise will live forever, 
embalmed in the Song of Songs, which is Solomon's ! 

Let us select, at the risk of being tedious, from this long 
list of characters, one or two of the more conspicuous, and 
dwell upon them a little more particularly. Glance, for a 
moment, gentlemen, at the great lawgiver ; the first, hu- 
manly viewed, of what Bacon declares to be the first class 
of great men, the founders of nations. Of humble origin, 
he was thrown by chance into the midst of the mostpov/er- 
ful, learned, and luxurious court of his time. He is the 
favourite of the sovereign's daughter. Wealth and beauty 
waste their blandishments upon him. What will he be- 
come ? Probably an effeminate courtier, — at best a book- 
learned priest, — a bold, ambitious warrior ; — a sagacious 
politician; — the Talleyrand of the Nile. Ah, no! Be- 
neath that ample forehead the eye of genius burns undimmed 
by the corrupting influence of a courtly atmosphere, but 
with no impure or selfish flam.e. In the palaces of their op- 
pressors, his heart beats with patriotic sympathy for the 
wrongs of his people. In the ardour of his zeal, he is driven to 
an act of violence which withdraws him from the circle of the 
court, and sends him forth for a while to lead the life of his 
shepherd ancestors in the plains of Midian. But the vision 
of his injured countrymen pursues him to his retreat, and 
he forms the magnificent project of redeeming them from 
bondage, and establishing them as an independent nation in 
their ancient territory of Palestine. Behold him reappear- 
ing, no longer the favourite of the sovereign's daughter, but 
an exile, stained with blood, unprotected, unprovided with 
human means, at the splendid court of the Pharaohs, to 
demand the liberation of his countrymen ! What will be 
his fortune? In all human probability, — by the aid of only 
human means, — disgraceful failure in his project ; — for him- 
self, untimely destruction^ Idle terrors ! He comes au- 
thorized from above. What grand and terrible displays of 
power attest his mission ! At the voice of the obscure exile, 



28 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the great river of Egypt runs blood : darkness shrouds her 
territory: death enters every dwelling, from the cottage of the 
labourer to the splendid palaces of Thebes and Memphis, un- 
til the last act of retributive justice swallows up in the floods 
of the Red Sea the hosts of the still unsubdued and false- 
hearted oppressor. Emancipation is effected. The harder 
task remains of organizing this scattered tribe of liberated 
slaves into a body politic. Will the steady patriot — the daunt- 
less champion, — the successful leader of the people under- 
stand the mysteries of political science ? Will he be able 
to arrange, with all the necessary checks and balances, the 
complicated machinery of a new constitution ? Fear not 
for him, man of many books 1 He possesses a source of 
information more certain than any of your theories, richer 
than all the pigeon-holes of all the constitution-makers. He 
is inspired by the fear and love of God, which are the end 
as well as the beginning of wisdom. He builds his political 
structure on the Rock of Ages : the gates of hell cannot 
and will not prevail against it. Then was revealed to the 
world, for the first time, the beautiful spectacle of a poli- 
tical constitution founded in truth, justice, and equal rights. 
It was revealed for the perpetual instruction of all succeed- 
ing generations. Amid the changing forms of national ex- 
istence it survives, and will survive forever, the substan- 
tial basis of the legislation of Christendom. The lawgiver 
has accomplished his mission : his work is done. It re- 
mains for younger and bolder spirits to remove the last 
obstacles, and open the way with the sword to the field 
where this great political experiment must be tried. But 
does no alloy of ambition mingle with the lofty purposes of 
the venerable founder ? Will he willingly resign to others 
in his old age the control of the nation which he has been 
the instrument of creating? Behold him on the top of 
Mount Pisgah, casting a single glance of hope and joy at 
the promised abode of his people, and then cheerfully in- 
vesting with the robe of authority his chosen successor. 
What remains to crow^n his already unrivalled name ? The 
laurel of the poet adorns the tlioughtful brow of the vete- 
ran statesman. The voice that marshalled the people to 
freedom, — that proclaimed the constitution and the laws, 
— through life celebrates their achievements in fervid strains 
of poetry, and breathes its last sigh in a song of praise and 
blessing on the tribes. 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 29 

Such, gentlemen, was the great Hebrew lawgiver : in a 
merely secular view, perhaps the highest name in human 
history. Less imposing, but still more engaging and 
attractive, is the far-famed " monarch minstrel." He too, 
combines the various glories of statesman, warrior, and 
poet. To him belongs the merit of raising the tribes from 
the precarious condition of a number of scattered settlements, 
intermingled with still unsubdued, and, notunfrequently, vic- 
torious enemies, into one united, powerful, prosperous 
state. Under him the vision of the great founder is for the 
first time fully realized, and the chosen people assume an 
independent rank among the nations of the earth. In his 
military character the highest warlike talents, — dauntless 
courage, pushed to the verge of rashness, — unerring judg- 
ment, — prompt decision, — indefatigable activity, — are ac- 
companied by tenderness for the fallen foe, — contempt for 
self-indulgence, — devotion to the sex, — respect for religion, 
— in short, all the fairest graces of the most improved states 
of civilization. Behold him at the cave of AduUam, 
dashing from his parched lips the untasted water from the 
well of Bethlehem, that had been too dearly purchased by 
the jeopardy of precious blood ! Behold him in the wilder- 
ness of En-gedi, sparing the life of his deadly foe, who at 
the same moment is pursuing him with the rage of insanity! 
In all his relations to Saul, what considerate kindness, — 
what noble forbearance under the most revolting injuries ! 
We seem to see the principle of good encountering that of 
evil in personal conflict, and overcoming it by the gentle 
weapons of kindness and charity. In his intercourse with 
Jonathan, what romantic friendship, — what sincere devo- 
tion ! We feel, as we read it, that there is no empty show 
in the charming lament v/hich I just now quoted over the 
fallen Beauty of Israel. No character in the records of 
Christian chivalry at its brightest periods, — not the fearless 
and fauUless Bayard, — not the perfect Alfred himself, 
exemplifies so completely what that famous institution was 
or should have been. But with all his merit as a warrior 
and statesman, the gift by which he rises highest in com- 
parison with the great of other ages and nations, is un- 
doubtedly that of Poetry, Philosophy and song have 
rarely taken up their abode in palaces, and when they 
have done so they have generally put on a loose and 
gallant dress, accommodated to the scene around them. 

3* 



30 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

"When the chivalry of Europe, in the middle ages, culti- 
vated literature, it dwindled very soon into a gay science^ 
to use the language of the time, comprehending little but 
romances and light love songs. Even in the hands of 
Solomon, the lyre of his lofty father begins already to 
send forth a softened and somewhat efleminate strain. 
In the works of David, for the first and only time in the 
history of the world, the sublime idea of religion, that 
concentrated essence of all truth, — is imbodied in the 
highest strains of poetry. Comipare these divine odes with 
the best lyric poetry of any other nation. Compare them, 
— I will not say wiili Anacreon, with Sappho, with the 
lighter portions of Horace, or with Moore, poets profess- 
edly of a free and almost licentious cast, — but compare 
them with all that ancient or modern lyric bards have fur- 
nished most excellent in sublimity, pathos, and moral 
beauty : compare them with Pindar, — with Horace in his 
highest flights, — with the French Rousseau, — the German 
Klopstock, Schiller, Burger, — the English Milton, Dryden, 
and Gray. — Of the whole list, Pindar alone sustains the 
comparison with some degree of success, — so far as the 
mere form of composition is concerned, — by the pov.er, 
splendour, and fulness of his style. " Pindar," says his 
Latin imitator, "like a river descending from a mountain, 
and swelled by copious rains above its banks, pours forth 
the vast, deep, boiling torrent of his song." 



Pindarum quisquis studet semulari, 
Jule ! ceratis ope dsedalea 
Nititur pennis, vitreo daturus 



Nomina ponto. 



Monte decurrens, velut amnis, inibres 
Quem super notas aluere ripas, 
Fervet immensusque ruit profundo 
Pindarus ore. 



Splendid, and, as respects the mere form of composition, 
not unmerited eulogy ! But how poor and mean are his 
subjects, when compared with tliose of David ! Of Pindar, 
more truly, perhaps, than of any other writer, we may say, 
that the workmanship excelled the stufT. Materiem supc- 
rahat opus. What a waste of the richest gifts of mind to com- 
memorate the triumphs of the raceground and the wrestling 



THE PRE-EMINENT VALUE OF THE BIBLE. 31 

match, — to adorn the intenninahle fables of a chihlish and 
corrupt mythology ! In the matchless odes of David, on 
the other hand, as I just now remarked, the finest poetry is 
employed to imbody the most profound wisdom. His 
only subject is religion, — sublime, beautiful, pure, and 
true, — as she reveals herself to the highest contemplations 
of the noblest minds. But is not this devotional language 
a mere lip-service ? a form of sound words^ employed by 
the king to set a good example to his court? Ah, no ! 
Religion is his pride, his delight, his passion. There is 
no mistake about his meaning. His poetry is a boiling 
flood, like that of Pindar, though heated with a far different 
fire. Every verse is alive, breathing, burning, throbbing 
with unaffected sentiment. Whence, then, comes this 
sudden burst of light and glory from the centre of the 
deepest intellectual and moral darkness ? How happens it 
that the ruler of a little semi-barbarous eastern state has 
reached in his odes a height of sublimity, pathos, moral and 
religious truth, which Pindar never dreamed of, and Milton 
vainly sought to imitate ? Ansvver, infidelity! Answer, 
skepticism I When you have done your best in vain, 
Faith supplies the solution with a word. Ah, splendid 
bard ! could but a ray of your divine inspiration have fallen 
iTpon that wayward heart which was destined three 
thousand years afterwards to celebrate with not unequal 
powers of verse your unfading glory ! 

The harp the monarch minstrel swept, 
The king of men, the loved of Heaven, 

Which music hallovv'd as she wept 

O'er tones her heart of hearts had given,— 
Redoubled be her tears ; its chords are riven. 

It softened men of iron mould ; 

It gave them virtues not their own. 
No ear so dull, — no heart so cold, ' 

That felt not, — fired not at its tone. 
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne. 

It told the triumphs of our king. 

It wafted glory to our God, 
It made the gladdened valleys ring, 
The cedars bow, — the mountains nod, 
Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode. 

When the Greek artist undertook to represent on can- 



32 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS K^^OWLEDGE. 

vass the tragic scene of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, he em- 
ployed every secret of his talent in l;eighteningthe expres- 
sion of grief upon the faces of the assistants, but when he 
came to that of Agamemnon he drew a veil over it, for he 
felt that the depth of a father's despair under such circum- 
stances, was beyond the reach of the pencil. There is one 
other character, gentlemen, in Scripture, which should now 
be presented to you as a summary of all that I have said, 
but I dare not make the attempt. What language can de- 
lineate, or pretend to give an idea of perfection ? What 
early maturity ! While yet a child, he astonishes the wisest 
by his learning. What -docility to his parents ! What 
affection for his friends ! What indulgence to the fallen ! 
What sympathy with female weakness, and infant inno- 
cence ! What faultless purity of life ! With all this gen- 
tleness, what unshrinking severity for vice ! With all this 
innocence, what unerring sagacity ! In this lowly condi- 
tion what power of thought, what elevation of sentiment, 
what grace and charm of language ! '* Never man spake 
as he spake." In his doctrine, what before unheard of, 
unt.hought of wisdom ; the wisdom not of books, but of the 
heart ! " I give unto you a new commandment, that ye 
love one another." In conduct, what unaffected self-sacri- 
lice ! " Father, forgive them ! for they know not what 
they do." Whence then comes this moral phenomenon, 
still more strange, and on ordinary principles, inexplicable 
than the one just alluded to ? If the history be true, how 
happens it that the most unpropitious circumstances have 
brought out this grand result ? If false, how is it that a 
few illiterate persons have invented a character, which to 
invent would be, in one form, to realize! Answer once 
more, infidelity! Answer once more, skepticism.! Geu- 
tlemen, infidelity, skepticism, have answered. The force 
of truth, long since, tore from the lips of one of their 
ablest champions the reluctant confession. Hear it in the 
words of Rousseau : 

^' Socrates lived and died like a philosopher : Jesus 
Christ lived and died like a Godl'^ 



No. II. 

A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 

BY GARDINER SPRING, D. D. 



I WAS crossinjy a narrow strip of land which lies upon 
the frontiers of France and Italy, where ihe Alps, witliout 
losing their loftiness and sublimity, begin to incline toward 
the Mediterranean, and occasionally put on an appearance 
of freshness and verdure. I had resolved, if possible, to 
ascend Mont Viso, Though not so high as Mont Blanc, 
yet from its solitary and isolated position, it presents a more 
imposing appearance of grandeur. It stands almost alone ; 
and like a colossal pyramid, rises high above the various 
crests, and peaks, and ridges which surround its base. It 
presented to my mind the aspect of some huge beacon 
towering amid the storm ; and the strange irregularity of 
the scenery gave strength to the impression. It seemed as 
though the heaving, angry ocean had been 'here arrested in 
the extreme fury of its tempest, and as if the power which 
had caused, had suddenly stilled its terrors, and bound it in 
solid and enduring chains. Inconstancy and change seemed 
strongly represented in constant and changing forms — the 
very emblem of mutability fixed as it might seem immu- 
table. 

Already had I ascended far up the mountain, and all the 
beautiful plain of Italy was spread out before me. That 
immense reservoir of waters, that well-known extent of 
gardens and cities, of wealth and splendour, which the he- 
roes of ancient and modern times pointed out to their sol- 
diers as the reward of perseverance and victory, glittered 
upon my eye. At the foot of the mountain, on the one 
side, had once stood the elephants of Hannibal and the ar- 
mies of Francis the First ; on the other, the forces of Cae- 
sar, Charlemagne, and Napoleon. So vivid was my fancy, 
it almost seemed that I could hear the sullen tramp of their 

33 



34 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

legions ; and the rushing of the streams around me seemed 
disturbed by the fording of their thronging cavalry, and all 
the tumult of a hurried march. I looked almost to see the 
Roman eagle hovering over their steps, or the lilies of France 
trembling to the mountain air. 

The continued and almost unbroken stillness of the scene 
recalled me from this vision of the past. All this glory and 
greatness had departed. Sooner will the first drops which 
issued from these torrents come back from the vast ocean 
in which they are mingled, and flow again from their source, 
than aught of all this life and renown return, to trouble or 
astonish the scene on which they once played so conspicu- 
ous and interesting a part. Yet I dwelt long and with 
singular pleasure on the names of those illustrious heroes. 
And who does not, as he crosses the Alps ? 

It was with a feeling of self-reproach that I turned at last 
to think of others. The glory and splendour of this world 
had first taken possession of my mind, while true worth 
and piety had also their monuments near me. I was stand- 
ing in the retreat of the ancient Vaudois. 

" Few remember them. They lived unknown, 

Til! persecutioa dragged them into fame, 
A ad chased them up to heaven." 

From the eminence from which I surveyed them, four beau- 
tiful valleys spread themselves before me something in the 
form of 2. fan, converging from the distance, and terminat- 
ing almost in a point near the spot where I stood. I had 
heard of this asylum of the faithful as the region of barren- 
ness and ice. I had read of it as a desert environed with 
frigluful precipices, and protected by eternal snows. But 
such was not the scene on which I gazed. A beautiful sky 
spread its blue arch above. The verdure was springing 
from the sides of the mountain, scantily it is true, but for 
that the more welcome. The valley below seemed spread 
Vv^ith a carpet of rich emerald, wrought in with the bright- 
est flowers. Nor were the light and life of civilization want- 
ing to complete the picture. Scattered villages and villas 
were seen at intervals, and everywhere the vine and the 
fig tree enriched the plain. The Po, and the Dora too, with 
their almost innumsrable branches, were wildly urging their 
waters down the rocks and throuoh the crevices of the 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 35 

mountains, till you might see them quietly stealing to the 
valleys and mingle with the streams below. 

T stood gazing, sometimes at the naked and barren cliffs 
of some distant promontory ; sometimes at mountains that 
lified their snowy summits where the eagle is never seen to 
soar ; and sometimes at the enchanting plain beneath. And 
are these the rocks, said I, which locked down upon those 
sanguinary persecutions? Are these the mountains 
whence vibrated those songs of salvation that indicated 
to the foe the retreat of the faithful ? Are these the streams 
once stained with the blood of the saints ? Are these the 
vcdleys from which ascended in many a mingled column 
the flames of the fagot, the supplications and sighs of 
the martyrs, and the fend-like exultatiGn of their destroy^ 
ers? I felt as though I were surveying the monuments of 
deeds in which one scarce knows which had the pre-emi- 
nence, — the faith and constancy of the victims, or the fury 
of their fierce persecutors. Here once dwelt a small, poor, 
forgotten people ; a people, weak indeed, but full of that 
faith which wrought righteousness, obtained promises, 
stopped the mouths of lions, escaped the edge of the sword. 
Here dwelt a people whose glory shone brightest in their 
tribulations, and to whom it was intrusted to preserve the 
purity of the faith through centuries of darkness, when 
barbarous nations ravaged and destroyed all around them, 
making no distinction between what was sacred and what 
was profane. And here still dwelt the descendants of that 
same people, in all the peculiarity of their language, habits, 
and manners, as well as in all the integrity of that faitli 
which has survived the revolution of empires, and which is 
still destined to travel down the descent of time, and as suc- 
cessive ages roll on, exert a reforming and purifying influ- 
ence over the world. 

And can this be the place, thought I, where the Woman, 
described in the Apocalypse, hath a place prepared of God, 
where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a 
time, from the face of the Serpent? While this inquiry 
was passing through my mind, I was lost in contemplation. 
My thoughts became irregular and wild. My imagination 
wandered, I knew not whither. Whether it were that sleep 
overtook me on the mountain, and what followed was the 
fancy of a dream, or whether a waking vision occupied my 
senses, I am unable to tell. I seemed raised in spirit above 



36 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the world ; and yet my hopes and fears were strangely con- 
nected with its spiritual welfare and prosperity. A subject 
upon wliich I had thought, and read, and conversed often, 
v/eighed upon my bosom, and filled it with deep and se- 
rious reflection. My anxious mind brooded over it, as 
some busy, restless farcy, waking to the roar of the tem- 
pest, pictures to itself evils which nothing can remedy or 
relieve. 

I trembled for the Ark of God. Errors, deeply ruinous 
in doctrine and practice, were inducing desolation and de- 
cay. A smooth theology had taken the place of those 
wholesome truths which have in every age been the wisdom 
of God, and the power of God to salvation. The meek- 
ness ofivisdom was superseded by a vaunting and arrogant 
spirit ; and means and measures were making progress in 
the church, which threatened to burn over her fairest bor- 
ders, and leave them like a land that could not be tilled, or 
sown, or eared, or harvested for generations to come. I 
saw collisions of sentiment distracting the minds and divid- 
ing the counsels of those who were once joined together 
in the same mind and the same judgment, I saw also 
chillinof alienations amonof those who once loved as bre- 
thren ; while the peaceful spirit who had soloiig hovered over 
this fair land, was just about to spread his pinions and fly 
away. Already, the ways of Zion ^nourned because few 
came to her solemn feasts. Already the streams of mercy 
seemed to be drying up, which have for so long a period 
been refreshing our heritage and bearing on their bosom 
tlie blessings of salvation to distant lands. From the 
daughter of Zion all her beauty teas departed. Her 
princes ivere become like harts that find no pasture ; and 
they were gone loithout strength before the pursuer, I 
thought of her in the days of her captivity and reproach, 
when she hung her harp upon the willows, and wept. I 
remembered, and could not forbear uttering aloud, that af- 
fecting himentation of tlie Prophet, IIoio hath the Lord 
covered the daughter of Zion ivith a cloud in his anger, 
and cast downfro'in heaven unto earth the beauty of Israel, 
and remembered 7iot his footstool in the day of his anger. 
Such were the thoughts wliich occupied me in my revery. 
And they were not without close connexion and sympathy 
wit!\ tliose which liad often disturbed me in my hours of 
waking reflection. The day seemed dark and gloomy like 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 37 

one in November. The sun was enveloped in clouds, and 
the roiiorh north wind roared round me. I was by the side 
of a lofty, weather-beaten mountain. Its top seemed to 
support the heavens, and its brow frowned over a deep, 
expansive wilderness, impervious to the eye, and immea- 
surable in extent. It appeared at first view as one vast 
desert, where was no trace of human footsteps, and where 
no man dwelt. 

As I was walking to and fro with a mind almost as cheer- 
less as the rug-cred cliffs around me, suddenly a chorus of 
superhuman voices filled the air. The w^ords of their song- 
fell distinctly upon my ear, clear and sweet as from instru- 
ments of silver. They chanted, TVho is this that coineth 
up from the zvilderness, leaning upon her beloved ? As 
I turned to look toward the desert, I beheld a female form 
of distinguished attractions and beauty, leaning on One like 
unto the Son of man. Her countenance was expressive 
of intelligence and sweetness. Her mien was humble, yet 
a peculiar dignity shone in her every action, and her entire 
appearance seemed pre-eminently fitted to please and cap- 
tivate. I had heard of One dwelling in the wilderness, 
whom the tongues of inspired men and angels had repre- 
sented as clothed with celestial comeliness and decked with 
beauty from the skies — a wanderer in the desert, but not 
alone ; hand in hand with One more powerful than herself, 
she had her course through its strife and temptations. As 
my eye rested upon her for the purpose of scanning her 
person more carefully, that I might satisfy myself if this 
were indeed she of whom I had heard, 1 saw that she was 
enveloped in a dense and hazy atmosphere, through which 
a pale light beamed from her countenance and clothed her 
form, and seemed everywhere struggling to dart forth its 
rays. For the moment it seemed doubtful whether she 
would not be merged in the obscurity ; but the mist was 
soon dissipated, and she looked forth like the moon walk- 
ins; in her brightness, luminous in her entire form, and, 
like the angel standing in the sun, conspicuous to the 
world. 

I observed that her features were in part covered with a 
veil. She had an humble, lowly spirit, and though in the full 
power of youth and beauty, seemed utterly unconscious of 
her attractions. She had no desire of superiority or dis- 
tinction ; no undue assumption of dignity; no spirit of am- 

4 



38 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

biiion or rivalry. She did not court applause, nor was she 
offended at rebuke. She sought not the eye of the world, 
neither delighted in its bustle and confusion ; but rather in 
the shade and stillness of some beloved retreat, open only 
to the observation, and consecrated only by the presence of 
her Lord and Husband. At times she instinctively shrunk 
from his inspection, and hid her face in confusion. Nor 
was there in this any affectation of modesty, but a deep 
and ingenuous impression of her unworthiness that oppress- 
ed her, and often indeed found its way to her lips. Look 
not upon me, she would exclaim. Look not upon me, be- 
cause the Sun hath looked upon me ! One of her loveliest 
characteristics, as it seemed to me, was this humble, meek, 
and retiring spirit. Her progress was often rapid, yet was 
it noiseless and silent as the dew of heaven. Wherever 
she took a false step, she herself was the first to detect it, 
and prompt and faithful in her self-reproach. Rather than 
feel that she was worthy to be the object of admiration, 
many a time would she lay her hand upon her mouth and 
exclaim, Behold, I am vile J There was a lowliness of de- 
meanour exemplified in her progress that reminded me of 
the spirit of genuine piety. She seemed at such a remove 
from th^ haughty, overbearing temper of the world, that I 
concluded she belonged to another race of beings. For no- 
thing did I envy her so much as for this unearthly spirit. 

And can this be she, thought I, of whom I have so often 
read, that was cast out into the open field to the loathing 
of her person, in the day that she zvas born ? If so, no- 
thing could be more striking than the contrast between her 
original condition, her debased parentage, and her present 
elevation and prospects. She was like one who had sus- 
tained a moral transformation, and had been, as it were, re- 
created and born anew. Once poor and miserable, and 
blind and naked, she was now clothed icith embroidered 
work, girded about ivithftne linen, covered loith silk, and 
decked loifh ornaments. Though her birth and nativity 
laerc of the Ictnd of Canaan; though her father icas a 
Ilittite and her mother an Amorite ; yet she was now al- 
lied to a family that participates the riches and royalty of 
a nobler world, and her renoivn went forth among the na- 
tions for her beauty. She was the child of God — the 
adopted daughter of the King of heaven. Her second birth 
traced her lineage to the skies ; — born, not of blood, nor 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 39 

of the ivill of fleshy nor of the will of man, out of God, 
She had no unborrowed splendour, yet was she covered 
with righteousness as ivith a garment, and prepared as 
a bride adorned for her husband. Though once soiled and 
blemished by her native servitude ; though abject in her occu- 
pation and associates ; yet was she now as the loings of a 
dove covered with silver and her feathers ivith yelloio gold. 
My own impressions of her loveliness were confirmed by 
what I distinctly heard from the lips of her royal husband. 
Jjehold, said he, thou art fair, my love, behold, thou art 
fair, JMy dove, my und.efiled is but one ; she is the only 
one of her mother ; she is the choice one of her that bare 
her. Sometimes he spoke of the tenderness of her attach- 
ment; sometimes of her purity and faithfulness; and some- 
times, breaking forth in the language of gratified joy, he ex- 
claimed, Thou art all fair, my love, there is no spot in 
thee 1 

Filled with admiration, I could not but again exclaim, 
Who is this? — so depraved in her nativity, and yet so ex- 
alted in Insr adoption — so impure in her original, and yet so 
pure in her transformation — so heaven-born, so acknow- 
ledged and endeared to higher worlds, and yet in her own 
view so worthless? The answer was quickly upon my 
lips. Who but the church of the First-born! — the spirit- 
ual Jerusalem from God out of heaven — the Bride, the 
Lamb'' s ivife! Who but that complex, ornate, and lovely 
Personage, who is a lively emblem, a typical designation 
of the virtuous of every age and name, here imbodied and 
personified by the daughter of Zion travelling in the great- 
ness of her strength. 

This amxiable and fair being I beheld far from the abodes 
of men, in the waste, howling desert. She had no conti- 
nuing city. She was away from home, often afflicted^ 
tossed icith tempests, and not comforted. The place 
vrhere she sojourned was a place of vicissitude and w^o. 
There were no sorrows like her sorrows, and a stranger 
did not intermeddle with her joy. Here she stretched forth 
her hands unto God, and her soul thirsted for him as a 
thirsty land for the grateful and ever welcome rain. Here 
she met with delays, hinderances, and vexations. The powd- 
ers of darkness were leagued against her, combining their 
strength and subtlety to perplex and imbitter her mind, to 
retard her progress, and effect her destruction. She was 



40 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

passing through an enemy's land, and had put on the whole 
armour of GocL Without were fightings, and within 
were fears. External foes, and indwelling sins, distraciting 
cares, painful bereavements, and a subtle adversary often 
filled her with despondency, and spoiled her every earth- 
born hope. 

I observed that she did not always know how to explore 
her path, and that she sometimes forsook her guide and 
wandered from the way. Then she was depressed and dis- 
couraged, and instead of going cheerfully forward, would 
stray up and down in the wilderness. Aud then her cou- 
rage faltered, her strength languished, and her beauty wi- 
thered. Many a time, at such seasons, would she sit down 
and weep with abundant sorrow, and exclaim as though all 
hope had deserted her, il/y heart is overwhelmed loithin 
me! All thy waves and billows have gone over my soul! 
The wilderness too was long, and she was often wearied 
by the length of the way-. Sometimes she trembled, and 
seemed on the point of fainting or falling ; and then again 
she would press forward, now with a bold, notv with a 
doubtful step. 

Here she wandered amid the gloom and darkness of the 
desert. Here she had a place prepared for her by God, 
With his own hands he spread a table for her. The rock 
supplied her, and the manna descended. She fed on angels' 
food, and ate the bread of life. The pillar and the cloud 
moved before her. The God of Israel himself was with 
her — a friend in need, a refuge in times of trouble. In his 
mercy and care, in his power and faithfulness, she had re- 
sources which never failed. She sometimes grieved him, 
but he never abandoned her. He seemed to have no em- 
ployment so delightful to his heart as to care for her. He 
would watch her every step. He would often throw around 
her the arms of his protection to save her even from ima- 
ginary harm. He would spread his banner of love over 
her, and support her from step to step in all her course. I 
heard him say to her, / gave Egypt for thy ransom, 
^Ethiopia and Seba for thee. Since thou wast precious 
in my sight, I have loved thee; therefore will I give men 
for thee, Mnd people for thy life. It seemed to me that he 
would blot out all the nations, that he would crush a thou- 
sand worlds, before one hair of her head should fall to the 
ground. 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 41 

And yet there were sensible alternations in her spirit and 
condition. Sometimes she looked for light, and beheld 
darkness, ^nd for good, and beheld trouble and vexation; 
aad then again her most chilling fears were turned into 
hopes, and her deepest sorrows into joy. Sometimes her 
prospect was gilded by all the varied tints of spring, and 
all the rich maturity of autumn ; while sometimes the 
snows of winter swept along her path, and night enshroud- 
ed it with gloom. At times the skies above her were soft 
and serene ; at times they were black and heavy, — lower- 
ing with tempest, and dark with indignation. Her path 
now lay through beds of spices, and along the fruits of the 
valley, which the forest enriched with its softest foliage ; 
where the murmur of the running streams, and the light 
breezes cheered and refreshed her, and every odour, charged 
with fragrance, brought pleasure to her senses ; and again 
she was constrained, amid the wildness of the precipices 
and the roar of the tempest, to pass along the lion's dens 
and the mountains of the leopards. 

As I was attentively observing her, a beam of light fell 
on her path, at a moment when the darkness had increased 
around her, and when despondency seemed almost to over- 
whelm her soul. All at once her countenance became 
bright, and, though still pensive, she pursued her course 
with revived strenq;th and freshness. Somethinof had roused 
her from her depression and put new courage into her heart. 
It was the voice of her Beloved, A multitude of conflict- 
ing emotions seemed for a moment to agitate her bosom. 
They were emotions of surprise, of joy, and of grief. 
Rise up, my love, my fair one, said he, ami come away ! 
For h, the iinnter is past, the rain is over and gone. 
The flowers appear on the earth ; the time of the singing 
cf birds is come, and the song of the turtle is heard in 
our land. Arise, my love, m,y fair one, and come away ! 
At this well-known voice, a tear stood in her eye. She 
looked on him whom she had pierced, and mourned, I 
heard her confessions of folly, and promises of faithfulness, 
and felt that 1 could make them my own. My soul melted 
within- me, and flowed forth in her every tear. Never 
Siiall I forget when she hid herself from his sight, as though 
fearful of his reproaches, and bewailed her departures from 
him whom her soul loved. Then it was that I heard him 
say, O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, let me 

4* 



42 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

see thy countenance^ let me hear thy voice ; for sweet is 
thy voice, and thy countenance is comely J Then it was 
that he allured her and spake comfortably unto her, and 
gave her the valley of Achor for a door of hope, and she 
sang there as in the days of her youth. There did he 
wipe away the tears from her cheeks, and cheer her with 
the promise of his favour ; while she, animated and buoyant 
with warm affection and eager hopes, was once more like a 
roe, or young hart upon the mountains of Bether, For the 
moment, she forgot that she was in the wilderness. She 
remembered not that she was far from her destined home, 
so much did the presence of him she thus loved smooth her 
path along the desert, and render her sojourn amid its wilds 
a season of happiness and security. 

This endured not long. Dark clouds again enfolded 
her, the scene put off its charms, and the way before her 
was curtained with its wonted gloom. There was nothing 
here to allure her stay, nothing suited to her large desires, 
nothing that could become the source of her blessedness, or 
the place of her repose. Nor was she either alarmed or 
surprised by the oft-repeated admonition, Arise, and depart 
hence, for this is yiot your rest, because it is polluted ; for 
as often did she herself respond, O that I had ivings like 
a dove, for then would I fly away and be at rest I To 
her hallowed mind, the place of her pilgrimage presented 
nothing but a wilderness, which she longed to leave behind 
her. Communion with her Lord had rendered it at times 
a place of delightful remembrance ; but she well knew that 
a higher abode was awaiting her, where she should enjoy 
his presence uninterruptedly and forever. There was her 
treasure, and there her heart. Her conversation was there. 
Her ardent desires, her highest good was there. Heaven 
absorbed her attention, awakened her highest affections and 
passions, and exhausted the vigour of her mind. Her very 
sorrows and griefs indicated its aspirations and tendencies. 
Like the magnetic needle, amid all the variations of a 
transient conflict, or passing storm, her heart exhibited a 
trembling agitation till it reposed in one unchanging point 
of rest. There were moments when her faith, with more 
than ordinary vividness, realized the unseen world, when a 
hope full of immortality siied its fragrance over her spirits, 
and made her long for the promised land. And then, 
habitually watchful of the pillar and the cloud, regardless 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 43 

of obstacles and fearless of danger, onward she went from 
conquering to conquer. The circuities and vicissitudes of 
her path might at times bewilder her ; the grandeur of the 
scenery, or its softness and beauty might for a moment 
allure her ; but her aim was fixed, — the object single to 
which she aspired. Forgetting the things that were 
behind, and reaching forth to those ivhich tvere before, she 
pressed toward the mark for the prize of the high calling 
of God in Jesus Christ, It was the way to the Heavenly 
City, and she could not turn back. It was the only way, 
and she could not forego the expectation of that imperish- 
able inheritance. 

I stood a while wondering at her zeal and stedfastness, 
but my wonder ceased when I recollected that she was not 
alone. She leaned on One who seemed more than mortal. 

" In his side he bore, 
And in his hands and feet the cruel scars." 

He it was who bore her griefs, carried her sorroivs, and 
even made her sins his ow^n. It w^as her Lord — her Husband 
— her Life — her Sacrifice. It was he icho liveth and ivas 
dead, and is cdive for evermore, to succour and bless his 
church when all the nations die. I saw the secret of her 
strength. Her life teas hid ivith Christ in God, Though 
she was perfect weakness, she had Omnipotence to lean 
upon. Experience had taught her her own insufUciency, 
and she lived by faith in him who loved her, and gave 
himself for her, I was not a little interested in this view 
of her progress. Literally did she come up from the wiU 
derness, leaning upon her Beloved, She did not move 
a step ^vithout him. She did not wait for him to lead her, 
but went forward leaning upon him. When she stood 
still, she always stood alone. Once I saw her so depressed 
and weary that she sunk to the earth ; and then he took her 
up in his arms and carried her like a lamb in his bosom. 
Thus she pursued her w^ay — for the most part w^akeful, 
active, persevering, — and yet ever leaning upon him. The 
influence under which she acted, seemed a sort of charm 
upon her will, and dreio her iviththe cords of love as icith 
the bands of a man. It was her joy, as well as her strength. 
It gave buoyancy to her hopes, and inspired her with the 
confidence that he w^ould keep her from falling and bear her 



44 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

safely through. When, by some strong temptation, she lost 
sight of her dependence, most bitterly was she made to 
repent of her self-confidence and folly. Then it was that her 
time was spent in retracing and recovering the grovmd she 
had lost, and bemoaning her sad condition. Many a time 
has she then exclaimed, O that it were with me as in 
months past, when the candle of the Lord shone upon my 
head 1 But these seasons of self-reproach and pensiveness 
were comparatively few. Habitually she looked beyond all 
created things, felt herself to be his creature and child, sub- 
ject to his guidance and control, dependent on his strength 
and grace. Never did she delight in her dependence more 
than during the seasons of her greatest vigour, her most 
rapid progress. Never could she say with a more com- 
forted confidence, than in her most successful victories, 
My soul, ivait thou only upon God, for my expectation is 
from him, 

I thought I saw the heavenly axiom verified. Hove them 
that love me. By nothing was her guide and patron more 
distinguished than his love for her, and by nothing was she 
more distinguished than her love to him. In strains sweet 
as angels use, I often heard her sing. My beloved is the 
chief among ten thousands ! Yea, he is altogether lovely I 
On him she placed her fondest affection, and reposed her 
every hope. Her love was confiding and unsuspicious ; her 
confidence filial and even childlike. Sometimes you might 
see her reclining under the shadow of his favour with great 
delight ; sometimes lamenting his absence and watching 
for his return ; sometimes traversing with him the loftiest 
mountains, and sometimes exploring the vineyards to see if 
the vine flourish and the tender grape appear. If difficulties 
opposed, or dangers threatened, or enemies stood ready to 
devour; his grace ivas sufficient for her, his strength was 
rnade perfect in her weakness, his presence was her chief 
joy. Leaning on him, she escaped the dangers of the 
wilderness, ascended the steepest mountains, stood safe on 
the brink of the angry precipice, penetrated hideous forests, 
resisted and overcame the fiercest beasts of prey. AVith 
her eye on him, and all her trust in him, she continued her 
course. And while the youth became faint and were wea- 
ry, and the young men had utterly fallen, she renewed her 
strength; in heavenly contemplation, slie mounted up with 
wings as an eagle, and through all her course of duty and 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 45 

of trial, she ran and teas not weary, and walked and did 
not faint. While others were intimidated by dangers, or 
discouraged by difficulty, or lost sight of their Leader ; she 
pressed forward, because her courage was inspirited from 
above, and her exertion had a spring, a source, an energy 
not her own. The dangers and trials of the wilderness 
were gradually left behind her, and remembered only to en- 
hance her gratitude and perpetuate her praise. 

I observed, that in leaning upon her Beloved, she was 
often led ill a way that she kneiv not, and in paths that she 
had not knoivn. She seemed to be under a sort of disci- 
pline, designed to subdue her will to an unconditional acqui- 
escence in his ; to chastise her self-confidence, and teach 
her to walk by faith and not by sight. Like the Father 
of the faithful, she went forth not knotving ivhither she 
went. She knew not whither she was going the next hour, 
the next moment, the next step. It was her province to 
follow, not to lead : to obey, not to dictate. Her hopes 
and fears were both subject to disappointment. She was 
journeying in a weary land, and beheld the way stretching 
out almost immeasurably before her and lengthening as she 
proceeded. Often w^as she conducted by a very diversified 
course — sometimes amid scenes of mercy, and sometimes 
amid scenes of judgment — now amid well watered meadows, 
and now over dry and barren lands — now to mountains 
w^hence she caught a glimpse of her promised inheritance, 
and now to some low valley where the light of heaven 
scarcely penetrated. Her path was checkered and variable, 
like the path of human life. It was perpetually changing — 
rousing her attention when she was careless — reminding 
her of her obligations when she was ungrateful — recalling 
her confidence when she had placed it upon creatures. 
Her disposition was thus tried, and her character formed. 
Many a time what she thought her best seasons, proved her 
worst; and what she thought her worst, proved her best ; 
till, by an alternately painful and. joyful experience, she 
learned to repose all her confidence in her Redeemer, and 
to have no will but his. I had not seen such a spirit among 
men. The storms of life had driven her to this wilder- 
ness ; there to live eminently above the world and walk 
with God. There was a tenderness, a meekness, and sub- 
mission, a love, a gratitude, a cheerfulness which evinced 
that she was not long to be an inhabitant of earth. 



43 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

I could not help exclaiming, What a glorious object is 
this ivhich I behold! The church of the first-born strug- 
gling throuofh tills world, — this moral wilderness, — is a 
spectacle to God, to angels, and men* This humble and 
lovely personage, thought I, may well be the object of con- 
cern, of solicitude, of admiration. While this reflection 
was passing in my mind ; a multitude of voices, issuing I 
knew not whence, repeated the song, Wlio is this that co- 
meth up from the ivilderness, leaning upon her Beloved? 
I turned to ascertain who they were that spoke, and it 
seemed to me that the atmosphere around and above her 
was filled with living beings. They were of various 
descriptions and orders, very dissimilar in their appearance, 
but all deeply interested in the progress and condition of this 
daughter of Zion. There was a peculiarity about her per- 
son, her professions, her claims, her prospects, that attracted 
the attention of the inhabitants of this lower world. She 
disclaimed the authority of its maxims and usages. She 
declined its pleasures, and all participation in its unhallowed 
amusements. And she would not, needlessly, even inter- 
mingle with its society. She came out and teas separate, 
that all might know what immunities she challenged, and 
of what inheritance she was the expectant. 

She was like a city set on an hill. None could help 
seeing her ; none could view her with indifference. Good 
men beheld her, as identified with the glory of the Redeemer, 
as identifying their own happiness and glory with hers, as 
imbodying the best interests of mankind in this world and 
that which is to come. Though now depressed, they saw 
that soon she was to be triumphant, soon to behold her sons 
coming from far, and her daughters from the end of the 
world ; and though still bearing the marks of imperfection 
and servitude, ere long to share the kingdoms of this world 
with her Prince, and wear a diadem of gold. 

Bad men beheld her, sometimes to wonder at the pecu- 
liarity of her condition — a feeble woman coming up from 
the wilderness, leaning upon her Beloved ! Sometimes to 
admire her beauty, for she was comehj as Jerusalem, and 
\\\Q fairest among womeyi; sometimes to acknowledge her 
influence and power, for she was terrible as an army loith 
banners ; sometimes to feel the reproach of her example; 
for though sliining in borrowed splendour, yet was she the 
light of the world; sometimes to be envious at her allot- 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 47 

ment, for the smile of heaven played upon her countenance, 
and the solitary place was glad for her : and sometimes 
to hate her with perfect hatred, to vex and injure her, to 
persecute, and if possible destroy her. 

I saw also a multitude of living spirits hovering- over her 
path and near her person. They were messengers from a, 
higher world — an exalted order of beings, and seemed to 
have come from the presence of God. Their countenances 
were like lightning, and their raiment white as snow. They 
possessed wonderful power and activity, and moved with 
the swiftness of the wind. They v/ere beautiful also be- 
yond a parallel — clothed with unfading and immortal youth, 
and glowing with the energy and ardour of truth and love. 
I saw them lifting up their hands — spreading forth their 
wings — and apparently in sweet discourse with one another 
as they watched her progress. Now, they would stoop 
down and bend their faces towards the ground to observe 
her. Again, they would fly through the air and return, as 
though from some unknown region whither they had gone to 
tell of her conquests. At times, they would rano^e them- 
selves in throngs and companies, and strike their lyres and 
tune their hymns of praise. One particularly, I observed, 
of elevated mien and resplendentcountenance, who hovered 
around her head, so near indeed that the vivid light that 
enveloped her coloured and tinged his form, covering both 
as with a mantle of celestial splendour. With his finger 
he pointed towards Heaven and said, Eye hath not seen, 
nor ear heard, nor hath entered into the heart of man the 
things that God hath prepared for them that love him! 

I saw two dark and benighted spirits, irritated with ma- 
lignity, corroded with envy,* and scarred by God's indigna- 
tion, come up as it were out of the earth, and alight about 
her. I trembled for her safety, for it seemed to me they 
came ivith great ivrath, as though they knew they had hut 
a short time, I was reassured however by the calm and 
confident mien with which she looked around, as though 
certain of protection from One mightier than they. And 
then I heard the clashing of arms, and saw the rushing of 
battle. In the tumultuous conflict w^hich ensued, I could 
distinguish voices of fiend-like rage and despair, the an- 
swer of exulting, indignant courage mingled together, and 
at times the startling cry of some wounded, fallen com- 
batant, resounding faint and fainter, as though borne and 



48 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

hurried down to earth's very centre. With what deep in- 
terest did I await the result ! Yet I did not fear for it. 
Soon the noise of strife gave place to shouts of victory. 
And from the sweet notes of praise — praise to Him tvho is 
seated Kpon the throne,—! knew they were from the vic- 
torious company who are rainistering spirits to them that 
shall be heirs of salvation, and to whom the church was 
the object of unremitting care. 

I saw also, tliat God her mighty Maker regarded her. 
More than all things else, did she illustrate his ineffable 
glory. He beheld her clothed with his own loveliness. 
lie rejoiced over her ivith joy ; he joyed over her with 
singing. As a bridegroom rejoiceth over his bride, so 
did her God rejoice over her. God her Redeemer was with 
her — her shelter and shade, her glory and the lifter up of 
her head, God her Sanctifier too had his dwelling within 
her heart, and made her his temple ; while the ever blessed 
and glorious Trinity, through her, made impressive and 
augmenting discoveries of his own excellence. 

Next to her glorious Lord, no object so well deserved, 
or might so well attract attention, as this pilgrim in the de- 
sert. I looked upon her with more than admiration. And 
while I gazed on her, as in her beauty and her might she 
pursued her course, I could not help repeating the vow I 
had made in my youth^ — If I forget thee, Jerusalem, 
let my right hand forget her cunning! — let my tongue 
cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I prefer not Jerusalem 
above my chief joy ! 

Inexpressibly happy, thought I, is the church of God ! 
Where is there in the world so amiable and lovely a cha- 
racter — where a community so favoured as this ! Many a 
time, when she has had no resting place, and has been 
hunted like a partridge upon the mountains, has the Shep- 
herd and Stone of Israel provided safety and repose for her, 
and kept her as the apple of his eye. Often when she has 
been driven from among men, and perdition like a flood 
has chased Jier, has he himself been her dwelling-place, 
and nourished and brought her up as an only child. Her 
ignorance he has instructed ; her languor and depression he 
lias changed into hope and rejoicing; her solitude he has 
sweetened by his presence ; her danger he has driven far 
away. He has been her refuge and her strength. To 
the multiplied mischiefs that have passed through the earth, 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. • 49 

he has said, Touch not mine anointed^ and do my people 
no harm! He has beautified and enlarged her. He has 
caused her to look forth like the morning. He has made 
her head like Cannel, and the hair of her head like Leba- 
non, He has set her as a seal upon his hearty as a seal 
upon his arm. Nor will his purposes of love toward her 
be accomplished, till he has purified her from all her imper- 
fection, decked her with majesty and excellency, and in the 
day of her celestial es[)ov.sd\s, presented her to himself a 
glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such 
thing. 

While this train of thought was passing through my mind, 
I cast my eyes once more towards the wilderness. No 
longer was it a desert, but rather an expanse of cultivated 
fields, and gardens of richest shrubbery, everywhere inter- 
spersed with beautiful villages, towering palaces, lofty tur- 
rets, and living men. The corn and the vine, the olive and 
the palm flourished. Instead of the thorn, teas thefir-treej 
and instead of the brier, the myrtle and the rose. Waters 
broke out in the desert. The way through this verdant 
territory seemed a highway. No tedious, intricate pilgrim- 
age was it now. Enemies had disappeared. No lioti 
was there, neither any ravenous beast went up thereon, it 
was not found there. And the pilgrim had now thrown 
aside that veil which obscured her, and put on her most 
splendid attire. A voice reached her from the heavens, 
Arise, shine, for thy light is come, and the glory of the 
Lord is risen upon thee. She looked forth now as the ef- 
fulgence of the world. She seemed as it were, clothed 
tvilh the sun ; the moon was under her feet, and upon 
her head teas a croivn of twelve stars. There was a halo 
of glory encircling her, that reminded me of the Shekinah 
that stood over the ancient tabernacle. She was near to the 
Deity, encompassed with glory, and living within the com- 
prehension of his smile. Kings and princes were allured 
by her briorhtness, and the wondering people came bending 
to her. The kings of Tarshish and the isles brought her 
presents ; the kings of Sheha and Seba offered her gifts. 
No longer did she falter in her course, or turn her eye back- 
ward. She was clothed with a divine panoply, and went 
forth more than conquerer through him that loved her. 
A banner waved over her of the purest gold, on one side 
of which was set in rich enamel, The Lord knoweth them 

5 



50 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

THAT ARE HIS ; and on the other, Let every one that 

NAMETH THE NAME OF ChRIST DEPART FROM INIQUITY. At 

her approach every false system of religion was arrested 
in its progress ; all mist and darkness, error and delusion, 
sin, shame, and wo fled before her. Streams of light and 
salvation flowed everywhere around her, and sent forth 
their blessings to every land. Iq her hand she carried a 
scroll, or parchment, which she unfolded before the nations, 
and by which she turned them from darhiess unto light, 
andfronn the poicer of Satan unto God. Wonderful was 
the transformation that attended and followed her brilliant 
career. Iniquity fell before her. Tyranny and oppression 
and unrighteousness were blasted by her breath. Misery 
and despair were together chased away by the light of her 
countenance. Every valley urns exalted^ and every moun- 
tain and hill was made low ; the crooked was made straight, 
and the rough places plain; and the glory of the Lord 
was revealed, and all flesh saw it together, 

" O scenes surpassing fable and yet true ; 
Scenes of accomplish'd bliss, which who can see 
Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
His soul refreshed with foretastes of the joy !" 

The mountains and the hills broke forth before into sing- 
ing, and all the trees of the field clapped their hands. The 
Spirit was poured from on high, and the world appeared to 
be turning to the service and favour of the true God. t^^ery 
revolution of this diurnal sphere beheld her triumphs ^rom 
the rising of the sun to his going doivn. 

" Distant, barbarous climes, 
Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun 
Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 
Flames on the Atlantic isles, 

alternately became the scenes of her perpetuated victories. 
Distant continents and islands, wandering tribes and collect- 
ed empires, thougli once shrouded in deepest gloom, now 
beheld and reflected the brii^htness of her risino^. 

"One song employs all nations, and all cry, 
Worihi/ the Lamb, for he was slain for us / 
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
From distant mountains catch the flyiniT: joy. 
Till nation after nation taught the strain, 
Earth rolls the rapturous hosannah round." 



A VISION OF THE CHURCH. 51 

My rf^very continued, but the gloom and depression 
which at first pervaded it passed away. Instead of a dark 
day in November, it appeared to my gratified imagination 
like the loveliest in May. Brown autumn had fled. AVin- 
ter had been chased away by the softness and beauty of 
spring. The sun was just descending in his gayest chariot, 
and throwing his light from pole to pole. The rough nortli 
wind had yielded to the fragrant zephyr. The rugged 
mountain had become like the verdant lawn. The uncloud- 
ed sky, the balmy air, the rich foliage of the forest, the fra- 
grant flowers were but faintly emblematical of the unbroken 
serenity I felt within. The birds were chanting their songs 
of joy, and all nature was vocal with praise and blossoming 
w^ith hope. The bow of promise threw its arch over the 
eastern sky, and as the sun went down, he cast forth the 
siofnals of a still brio^hter day. 



No. III. 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 

FOUNDED ON TACT. 



PART FIRST. 
SHALL I MARRY AN INFIDEL1 

It was Sunday evening, — that pleasant hour to the vir- 
tuous poor, — when Alice Grey was sitting by a bright fire, 
in a small, comfortable-looking room. There was no one 
with her except her infant, which was sleeping quietly in 
its cradle by her side. Her calm, innocent, and intelligent 
face, and the decent and respectable appearance of every 
thing about her, gave to the little apartment a grace and at- 
traction which larger rooms, and more elegant furniture, and 
greater beauty, often fail of possessing. 

She would frequently look at the cradle with that inde- 
scribable express«[)n with which a happy mother gazes on 
her sleeping child, and then cast her eyes towards the door 
as if expecting some one to enter ; one who, you would 
readily apprehend, was the father of her baby, and the 
partner of her duties and pleasures. 

While she was thus sitting by the table, with her arms 
resting upon the great Bible which she had been reading, 
her face suddenly lighted up with a still brighter glow of 
pleasure as the door opened, and her husband entered. 

" Well, wife," he said, as he hung up his hat and great- 
coat, "are you not going to give me a scolding for staying 
away so long, when I said I should be gone only half an 
hour?" 

" No," answered Alice, ** I am not in a scolding mood ; 
and who could be, James, with this good book on one side, 
and a 'sleeping baby on the other? both speak to me of the 
kinjrdom of heaven, where there are no harsh words. But 
I have missed you very much ; you know on Sunday even- 

53 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITV. 53 

ings we read together, and hear Fanny and Jemmy say 
their hymns and the lessons they have learned at Sunday- 
school. The children did not enjoy themselves so much 
as usual, and I could not help wishing you were with us." 

*' Well, Alice," said her husband, " don't say any more 
about it; I was sorry not to be here at the time they said 
their lessons, but I could not get away from Ralph Vincent 
without affronting him, he had so much to say ; and he took 
me a long walk instead of the little round he at first in- 
tended." 

" Have you been all this time with Ralph?" quickly 
asked Alice. 

'* Why not?" replied James; "what is the matter with 
Ralph, that I should not be with him ? he knows a great 
deal and has a great deal to say." 

'' He has a great deal to say," answered Alice, '* and 
thinks he knows a great deal." 

*' And perhaps," retorted James, *' you think, Alice, you 
know more than he does." 

Altliough this was said in a laughing tone, there was in 
it some-thing painful to his wife ; it was different from his 
usual mode of speaking, and it proved also to her that he 
did not agree with her in her opinion of Ralph Vincent's 
vain and superficial character. After a moment's pause 
she looked in her husband's face, and, with a tone of great 
seriousness but of true tenderness, said, *' Dear James, I do 
not like Ralph ; I think he has too high an opinion of him- 
self." 

*' How does he show that ?" said James. 

" Why, he is always boasting of what he can prove, and 
talking about the light of reason, as he calls it, and jesting 
about religion ; whatever he does not like he calls priest- 
craft; that's his word, I believe. He seems to me to try 
to frighten people ; he says things that he thinks very smart, 
because they are indelicate or irreverent ; and then he 
looks round to see who is astonished, and stretches himself 
up to his full height, (and you know he is very tall,) and he 
seems as if he thought he was a great man." 

*' He does know more than you or I." 

*' I do not," rejoined Alice, " pretend to know so much 
as he does, or as your wife, James, ought to know. 1 have 
read scarcely any thing except this best of all books," put- 
ting her hand on the Bible. Her humility, her affectionate 



54 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

tone of voice, the simple truth of her remarks on Ralph, 
and may-be the compliment to himself, for all men are sus- 
ceptible of such things, quite subdued her husband's slight 
dissatisfaction with her, — or rather with himself, for this 
was the real cause of his momentary captiousness towards 
his wife. 

Ralph belonged to that set of men who call themselves 
freethinkers, or free inquirers, which means, w^ith many 
of them, free to inquire, and free to think, and free to rail, 
against the Christian religion ; free to abuse and contemn 
what they see is held sacred, and dearer than life, by thou- 
sands of their fellow-beings ; free to hold up to scorn and 
ridicule the support of the poor, the sick, the forsaken ; free 
to misrepresent and deride the conclusions of the philoso- 
phers and sages, — the patient, and faithful, and fearless 
seekers after truth, (the true " freethinkers" of the world.) 
who have believed in the simple story of Jesus of Naza- 
reth ; free to trample upon the altars of human hope, of hu- 
man trust, of human joy. This freedom they claim ; but 
they are not free, we boldly assert, to see and to recognise 
the internal and the external evidences of the truth they 
despise ; not free to estimate the worth of a faith, that not 
merely enables weak human nature to die with courage and 
calmness, — this may be done by the infidel suicide, — but 
enables the poor, the despised, the injured man to bear his 
trial with a quiet fortitude, and a holy joy, with no one but 
the Being in whom he believes to witness his virtue. They 
are not free to estimate the truth of a faith that enables the 
mother to consign her infant to the grave, with the consoling 
trust that the child liveth, though her arms cannot press it 
to her aching heart. They are not free to weigh the value 
of " the evidence of things not seen, the substance of things 
hoped for," — of " that pleasing hope, that strong desire, 
that longing after immortality," which exists, or has ex- 
isted, in the heart of every human being. They are not 
free to estimate the weight and importance of the fact, that 
almost every man believes in something invisible ; that even 
every superstition is an argument in favour of the existence 
of God. They are not free fairly to examine, and calmly 
and faithfully to investigate, all the spiritual as well as the 
historical evidences of Christianity. Here the self-styled 
" freethinker" is not free ; he is the very bigot he despises ; 
he himself is among the ranks of the superstitious, for he 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 55 

fears religious inquiry. He is free to see defects, but not\o 
perceive beauties ; free to attack, but not to defend ; free 
only to find objections and to discover faults ; free to see the 
spots in the sun, but his eyes are blinded to the splendour of 
the glorious luminary itself. 

Ralph was one of these freethinkers ; and never was the 
most exclusive zealot more anxious to make proselytes to a 
faith that he considered essential to eternal happiness, than 
lie was to make converts to his gloomy belief, that man lies 
down in the dust with the beasts that perish, with no 
brighter hope, and no further anxiety. No wonder that 
Alice Grey dreaded such a companion for her husband. She 
had for some time suspected that Ralph was anxious to 
undermine James's religious belief; she knew that he had 
succeeded in raising some doubts in his mind, and, with all 
the watchfulness natural to true affection, she had narrowly 
observed the growth of their intimacy. It was a startling 
and exquisitely painful thing to her, to find that James had 
passed the Sunday evening, sacred as it h::d hitherto been 
to herself and her children, with Ralph Vincent. 

There is an instinctive courage and wisdom, that seem 
suddenly to inspire the most timid and uninstructed, in 
times of great danger to those they love, with the power to 
perceive and adopt the most effectual means for their res- 
cue. Alice forbore to censure his conduct ; she said no 
more to her husband upon the subject of his absence from 
them all the evening; but she gave him an account of the 
children's Sunday lessons. It happened to be the love of 
Jesus for little children. " I wish, James, you could have 
heard Fanny when she said to me, ' Mother, if I had died 
in that fever I had last spring, should I not have gone to 
Jesus Christ, and would not he have taken me in his arms, 
as he did little children when he was on earth ?' and I said 
to her, ' Yes ;' for I never felt so sure, as I did at that mo- 
ment, of the truth of our religion. That is a dear, good 
child, and I sometimes feel as if she was not made for this 
world." 

Alice had touched the right key ; James loved this child 
with that love which is itself a proof of immortality. 
*' Alice," said he, *' I dare say that Ralph would call me 
superstitious ; but I never look at Fanny without a feeling 
as if she had come from another and better world, and as 
if she still belon^^ed to it." 



56 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

When the morrow came, James was still more firmly 
resolved to join the Temperance Society. He felt dissa- 
tisfied with himself at the recollection of the way in which 
he had passed the Sunday evening, and was convinced of 
the wisdom of the precautionary measure which his wife 
had proposed. He accordingly went and signed his name. 
This action, and the smile of his good Alice when he re- 
turned and told her what he had done, quite restored his 
tranquillity. ** You may be sure that I shall pass this even- 
ing with you and the children," he said to his wife, as he 
went out to his morning's work in the printing office. 

Soon after, Alice's cousin Jane entered. '* 1 have come, 
Alice," she said, as she seated herself, " to chat with you 
this morning while you are at your work : the pain in my 
side prevents my sewing to-day and I am low-spirited, and 
w^ant you to cheer me up. Don't leave what you are doing ; 
we can talk just as v\^ell." 

'* I am sorry," said Alice, '* that you are sick again. 
What has the physician directed you to do for yourself?" 

'* Not to sew too long at a time, and to exercise in the 
open air, and one thing harder than any thing else, and 
that I find it impossible to perform." 

'^ What is that?" 

/' To keep myself in good spirits. If it w^ere not wicked 
to envy any one, and if I did not love you too well, I 
should envy you, Alice ; you need no such direction from 
the doctor. Happiness is a medicine not so easily obtained 
as he thinks, perhaps." 

Alice knew too well the cause of Jane's sorrow to make 
it necessary to ask, and she feared it was beyond the reach 
of human help. '' Though we cannot find happiness, Jane, 
we may, if we seek for it, find patience ; and patience leads 
the way to cheerfulness, and cheerfulness to hope, and so 
happiness comes at last." 

*' Yes," said Jane, " but not in this world." 

Alice would have spoken of the still greater happiness in 
a life to come, promised to those whose inheritance here 
has been tears and disappointment; but she knew this was 
never forgotten by Jane. The present sorrow was press- 
ing heavily upon her weak frame, and she tried to think of 
some alleviation for her immediate sufi'ering. To speak 
what was in her heart to a true friend, she knew was one 
means of comfort. '* Tell me," she said, ** have you no 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 57 

hope that Ralph will be converted, that he will yet be a 
Christian ?" 

" I have none," said Jane, '* unless you and James can 
convert him, or unless my constant prayer should be an- 
swered, and God should touch his heart, and turn it towards 
Him. For myself, my soul is bewildered ; you know that 
Ralph and I have loved each other ever since we were 
children, and I find it hard to turn away from him now ; 
and yet, Alice, 1 know it would be to peril my own soul to 
marry an unbeliever ; and I feel that He who has com- 
manded us, if the right eye offend us to pluck it out, bids 
me to separate myself from him, let him be ever so dear." 

Jane covered her face to hide the tears that she could 
not suppress. '' Do not despair," said Alice ; *' your faith 
may yet be the means of saving him. You must reason 
with him ; you must try to convert him ; as he loves you, 
he perhaps will listen to you, and treat your arguments 
with respect, instead of the ridicule with which he does 
mine." 

Alice was right in her conjectures with regard to Ralph, 
and had formed a just estimate of his character ; but from 
the straight-forward simplicity of her own character, and 
the instinctive purity of her taste, she was perfectly insen- 
sible to the real attraction of his society to those who could 
be flattered or amused by him. She was right, too, in her 
suspicion that Ralph was trying to make a convert of her 
husband. He had systematically set himself to the work 
of overthrowing James's faith. He indeed went farther. 
He wanted to persuade him that there was no future life, 
and no superintending Power that governs and cares for 
the interests of man. Ralph had attended Miss Wriglu's 
lectures, he had read Tom Paine, he had read many of the 
sad accounts of the enormities committed by persecuting 
bigots, and interested priests, in the name of Christ ; he 
had fully possessed himself of all the cant terms and ex- 
pressions employed by unbelievers in the abuse of Chris- 
tianity. He had the farther advantage of a ready w4t, and 
a lively vanity, and he was, as he thought, completely 
armed for the cause of infidelity. He was perfectly igno- 
rant that Miss Wright's lectures contained nothing that 
had not been advanced and answered long before he or 
Miss Wright was born : he had never asked if there was 
any answer to Tom Paine ; he had never asked, whether 



58 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the religion of selfish priests, and murderous zealots, was, 
in reality, the Christian religion; nor had he ever carefully- 
weighed the evidence of the existence of a Being whose 
name he profaned, and whose word he ridiculed and 
despised. This was the man who called himself the 
champion of freedom and of truth ; while he was, in 
fact, the slave of his senses and his vanity. Still he was 
a fearful foe to the happiness of James. 

For some days after the time we have spoken of, James 
avoided Ralph. He felt that he had disturhed his happiness, 
and he could not help v/ishing he might never hear him 
talk again. But James had a real regard for Ralph ; he 
thought him well-meaning; he knew and had experienced 
his generosity, and he viewed him as an injured man; for 
he believed there was nothing against him but his opinions, 
and for these he considered it wrong to censure him. He 
thought very highly of his talents. "1 almost fear," said 
he, "to talk with Ralph again about the Bible. Even you, 
Alice, would not find it quite so easy to answer his argu- 
ments as you may suppose." 

'' There is a great deal of nonsense and falsehood that 
cannot easily be answered," replied Alice ; '* but that does 
not prove that it is either sense or reason." 

"I am not taking Ralph's side," he answered; '* but if 
you knew more about the matter, Alice, you would not 
think it so plain that he is always in the wrong. You 
have never thought of the objections to Christianity ; you 
are ignorant of what wise men have said against it." 

*' It is true," said his wife ; '' I know nothing upon the 
subject but what I have learned from the Bible; all I know 
is, that I find there satisfactory answers to the questions 
that my soul would ask about God and a future life. 
When I look at our sweet Fanny, and see how pale and 
thin she looks, and fear that she may leave us by the way, 
my heart aches for the assurance that we shall live again, 
and meet in another world, where there is no n^ore death ; 
I find it declared in the Bible that we shall. When I see 
the wicked prospering in the world, because he is rich, and 
the good man sinking and dying from poverty, I want to be 
assured that there is a great day of reckoning, when justice 
shall govern the world ; and I see it there declared that God 
will judge the world in righteousness. I want to be assured 
that the poor, suffering slave, who cannot plead his own 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY, 59 

cause, who cannot tell his own story, has a Friend who 
sees and pities him, and will one day comfort him ; and I 
find it declared in the Bible, that not a sparrow Calls to the 
ground without the great Father. When trouble is around 
me, and my mind is disquieted, I go to the history of 
Jesus, and all is peace and joy. When I want to set 
before my children an example of perfect goodness, I go 
to the history of Jesus, and I have found it ; and in reading 
his words I cannot but feel and believe, that never man 
spake like this man. These are all my arguments, James ; 
to me they are convincing. I suppose that it is my igno- 
rance that makes it so difhcult for me to believe that either 
wise or good men have thought otherwise. I should not be 
able to answer any objections that were raised by Ralph or 
any unbeliever; but I nevertheless believe there are sufli- 
cient answers to all their arguments. Though my father 
was a clergyman, yet you know, James, he was poor, and 
1 had to work with my hands, and had very little time to 
read. I am sorry that I did not make time for the purpose, 
so that I might now be able to give a reason for the faith 
that is in me. But I should as soon have thought, upon a 
beautiful May morning, when every bird seemed to be 
singing a hymn of praise and gratitude, of studying som.e 
dusty book, to find reasons to prove that God made this 
glorious world, and gave me a heart to enjoy it, before I 
joined in the universal song of thanksgiving, as I should 
have thought, before I believed the Bible, of seeking for ar- 
guments to prove that God inspired that blessed word, 
which is the dayspring from on high, and which sets 
before my rejoicing eyes the glorious morning of the 
resurrection." 

" Dear Alice," said her husband, " I confess that these 
are better arguments, after all, than Ralph's." 

" I do pity my poor cousin Jane," said Alice. 

" AVhy, she truly loves Ralph," said James. 

'* And the more's the pity that she does ; she has poor 
health, and he'll be the death of her, I fear," answered 
Alice. 

" But don't you think," said James, " that Jane is fool- 
ishly scrupulous not to marry Ralph, because he has differ- 
ent opinions from hers ? He is not accountable for his opi- 
nions, and he is a good, honest fellow." 

" I cannot think Jane foolish," said Alice; *' I should 



60 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

do the same thing ; for a religious woman to be so intimately 
connected with an infidel, as in the married state, is like the 
living being chained to the dead. It is an unequal bargain ; 
he loves her with a selfish, a limited aff'ection ; she loves 
him with an eternal love. Upon that subject which is the 
highest, the holiest, the one of unfailing interest, they have 
no sympathy." 

"But," said James, ''if she holds the truth, if she is 
right and he is wrong, she may convince him, and so she 
may save her husband. It appears to me that, according 
to your own principles, she ought to marry him." 

*' I think not," said Alice ; '' if a woman can hope to 
produce any real change in her lover's religious opinions, 
she is quite as likely to succeed before as after marriage. 
It is true, that the importance of the subject ought of itself 
to be reason enough for fair inquiry ; and if it were justly 
estimated, no earthly happiness would come in competition 
with it. But we do know, James, that, with such a man 
as Ralph, to call such a pretty woman as Jane his wife, 
would influence him far more ; and if there is any hope of 
his giving his mind to this subject, and becoming a Chris- 
tian, it is for the sake of being her husband." 

t' He is too proud to be converted by a woman," an- 
swered James. 

" Say, too vain. Ralph is self»conceited ; it was, I think, 
partly for the sake of being singular that he became an un- 
believer." 

" If it is only vanity, Jane may cure him of his unbelief, 
and his vanity too, if she marries him. Believe me, Alice, 
my love for you has cured many of my faults, let me have 
ever so many left ; depend upon it, I should have been 
worse without you, Alice. O, do persuade Jane to marry 
hiin ; rely upon it, he will be a better man." 

'* Never," answered Alice ; '* never would I advise a 
woman to pledge her faith to a man who believes in no- 
thing but what his senses can teach him ; who knows no- 
thing of those invisible realities which form the very soul 
and joy of existence ; which insures to her, when her 
beauty fades and age comes on, a love for that inward bloom, 
that immortal youth, which the religious man alone can 
justly estimate." 

" But, Alice," said James, " this is selfish. If she re- 
ally loves him, she ought to think more of his happiness 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 61 

than of her own, and ought to be ^yilling to make this sa- 
critice. You know, if she determines not to marry him till 
his opinions change, and he still holds these opinions, they 
must be separated, and he may marry an irreligious woman, 
who may increase all his faults, and insure his ruin, while 
Jane will remember that she might have saved him." 

" I well know," said Alice, " that a tender spirit like 
Jane's might suffer much from this idea, but I think it a 
false view of the subject. This is, after all, only a possi- 
bility ; and if you admit objections like these that might 
occur on one side, you must do the same on the other. Is 
it not possible that Ralph might undermine her religious 
faith ? She is ignorant, and has never reasoned upon the 
subject; all his arguments have a power over her on that 
account. She has nothing to oppose but feeling. True, 
this is now her strongest, her highest affection ; but can she 
be sure it will always be so ? But, even if she could de- 
fend her own soul aorainst the chillinor effect of his heart- 
less doctrines, could she defend the souls of her children ? 
and has she a right, with her views, to expose herself to the 
unutterable agony of thinking, that she has been the means 
of bringing into this world, so full of the goodness of God, 
a being who scoffs at his name, and does not acknowledge 
his power, and numbers himself among the brutes that pe- 
rish ? O James, we have loved, and we do love each other; 
God is our vv^tness. I have sometimes feared that I loved 
you too well. Bui now, this very moment, I would part 
from you, sooner than have that sorrow at my heart, which 
Jane would feel, if she could accuse herself of voluntarily 
choosing, for the father of her children, a man who did not 
believe in a future life." 

James was silent, and looked troubled ; how glad would 
he have been at that moment to possess as firm a faith as 
his v/ife in the truths of our religion. He had hitherto been 
so entirely united with her in feeling and opinion, that while 
she was speaking, he felt as if he believed as she did ; but 
when she had finished, and he recurred to his own thoughts, 
he found that doubts, like evil spirits, had entered the para- 
dise of his affections, and had touched with their chilling 
questioninors the holiest bond that can bind mortals together, 
— a belief in an eternal life.. Hov/ could he express this 
to Alice ? '' After all," he said to himself, " tliese are only 
doubts. I must strufrgle with them like a man. The ene- 

6 



63 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE, 

my is around me and within me, and I must contend with 
him alone : but he may yet be conquered, yet I have not 
yiehied him the victory." Alice observed the serious and 
even sad expression in her husband's face; but she attri- 
biUed it to his sorrow for Ralph, and thought it was because 
he was convinced that Jane was right in refusing to marry 
him while he held his present opinions. 



PART SECOND. 

** What does a miracle mean ?" said Fanny to her father, 
as she and Jemmy came, to claim their place on his knees, 
during that short, happy hour to children, just before bed- 
time. " Our teacher in the Sunday school told us to try to 
find the meaning of the word miracle, to bring to her next 
Sunday. She told us to ask our parents : and we want you, 
father, to tell us what it means." 

James thought a while, and then said, " Do you remem- 
ber, Fanny, the last summer, when we carried you to see 
your uncle, at Milton, my taking you into the grist mill, 
and showing you how they ground the corn ?" 

'• Yes, father, perfectly well. They put the corn into 
the hopper ; and then you showed me how the water turned 
the wheel, and then how the wheel turned the great round 
stones, and then how the stones ground the corn into 
meal." 

" Well, Fanny, if the corn had been put into the hopper, 
and no wheel, or any thing else, had turned the stones that 
ground it into meal, but it had been put into the hopper, 
corn, and come out meal, without any thing to change it into 
rneal, we should call it a miracle, — a wonderful thing, above 
human power. 

*' As you know the water was changed into wine, at the 
marriage feast, at the command of Jesus," said Alice. 

" Then, father," said little James, *' I saw a miracle 
once." 

" How, my boy ? what was it ?" 

*' Why, father, I saw some chickens last summer come 
out of some eggs. Uncle showed me one of the little chick- 
ens with his head just peeping out, and he told me tliateggr 
had once been exactly like all the other eof.crs I had ever seen." 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 63 

*' But we do not call this a miracle," replied his father, 
*' because it has always been so ; all chickens have been 
born in this way, and we have all seen it, a great many 
times." 

*' Then, father," said Fanny, ^* a miracle is a very won- 
derful thing, that nobody has ever seen before ?" 

Her father v/as silent; he was thinking of a conversation 
he had lately had with Ralph about miracles. 

" A miracle," said her mother, " is not only a w^onderful 
thing that no one has ever before seen, but it is something 
contrary to what any one has ever seen. If, for instance, 
at the bidding of a man, instead of a chicken, a flower were 
to come out of the egg, we should say he had performed a 
miracle. Now we know that no one could do such won- 
derful things unless God gave him the power. So, when 
Jesus performed miracles, it was to convince people that 
God sent him." 

"I should have thought, mother," said Fanny, ''that 
they could not help believing him, he was so good, and so 
kind to every one." 

*' But there were some people," replied her mother, '' who 
did not love goodness, and could not believe in it, because 
they did not find it in their own hearts. These men would 
never have believed that he was the Son of God, if he had 
not worked miracles ; they would have considered him a 
deceiver." 

*' O ! mother," said Fanny, ''how could they help believ- 
ing that he spoke the truth ?" 

"If," said her mother, " they had been innocent and true 
themselves, they would have believed him without requir- 
ing miracles." 

" How happy Jesus must have been, mother, to possess 
such great power! because he could make sick people well, 
and bring the dead to life, and make the blind see, and 
the dumb speak. And how very happy he must have been 
when he raised Lazarus from the grave !" 

" Now, father," said Jemmy, " do tell us the story of 
the three brothers, who went all over the world to try who 
could bring back the most wonderful thing." 

Their father told them the story ; as he finished, Jemmy 
said, that the piece of tapestry, that carried people wher- 
ever they wanted to go, seemed to him the most wonderful 



64 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

thin^ ; but Fanny preferred the apple that cured the sick 
if they smelled of it. 

" This story," said Fanny, '' is not a miracle, for it is 
not true ; but the miracles were true." 

'' Yes," said her mother ; '* no one ever believed the 
story your father has just told you ; but millions have be- 
lieved the miracles. But it is time, my children, to say 
good-night." 

Alice led her children to their quiet pillows ; she joined 
in, and guided their simple prayers — those pure, angelic 
petitions, for blessings to the kind Father of all, ^vhich, 
more than any other human words, make one feel the divine 
presence. When she returned to her husband, he resumed 
the subject of their conversation. 

" It appears to me," said he, '^ that Fanny's notion of a 
miracle is as correct as yours, or as any that we can obtain. 
Suppose that we actually witnessed a miracle. We can 
only say that it is a wonderful thing that we never saw be- 
fore. That water should be turned into wine is, after all, 
not so wonderful as that an egg should turn into a chicken. 
Nature is a series of miracles." 

** But you must acknowledge," replied Alice, *'that the 
power which could interrupt or change this succession must 
be greater than nature itself. It is on this account, is it 
not ? that any interruption of this order (which is what we 
call a miracle) is more wonderful in fact than any of the 
most extraordinary things that happen according to the 
known laws of nature." 

" But there is the difficulty, Alice, with unbelievers ; 
they find it very difficult to believe that these laws could be 
interrupted. The course of nature is so certain, so regu- 
lar, so exact, that nothing but the testimony of one's senses, 
and hardly that, could convince one of the reality of a 
miracle. For instance, it seems to me almost impossible 
that the sun should not rise and set to-morrow, just as it 
has risen and set for these many thousand years." 

*' So it is," ^aid Alice, with a sigh, '' that this material 
sun blinds our dazzled eyes to the glory of Him who placed 
it in the firmament. The very perfection of the works of 
God hides their Creator from his creatures. Do you re- 
member, James, those beautiful lines which the minister 
quoted in his sermon a few Sundays since from a foreign 
writer ? I think I can repeat them. 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 65 

"'He veils himself in everlasting laws, 

Which, and not him, the skeptic seeing, exclaims, 
" Wherefore a God ] The vvorlil itself is God." 
And never did a Christian's adoration 
So praise him, as this skeptic's blasphemy.* 

It seems to me, that, because the world around us is so 
wonderful and beautiful, some people believe that there 
can be nothing beyond it; and they do in fact make a God 
of nature itself, or rather of the laws of nature, as they call 
them. Better far be like children and believe every thing 
a miracle, or like the Indian, who thinks that God speaks 
in the thunder and in the sound of the wind through the 
trees." 

*' But, Alice," said James, *' if our religion is, as Chris- 
tians believe, so perfectly adapted to the wants of our na- 
ture, and if it could prevail by its truth, what need was 
there of miracles ? You have often said, that in the life 
and teaching of Jesus you find s-atisfactory answ-ers to all 
the questions that your soul asks about God ; now, if the 
Bible, if the instructions of Jesus were proof enough of 
their divine origin, why were the miracles necessary." 

*' It seems to me," answered Alice, " that your own re- 
mark about the laws of nature is a satisfactory answer to 
your question. Men had got to think that there was no 
po\ver greater than nature, and nothing but the testimony 
of their ow^n senses, and hardly that, could convince them 
there was." 

** But that did not apply to the Jews : they believed in a 
Supreme Powder." 

" That is true : still nothing but miracles could convince 
the Jews that there was any religion, or any views of God, 
that could be worthy of belief, which were not authorized 
by the accredited interpreters of their sacred books. Jesus 
had entirely disappointed them in their conceptions of the 
Messiah ; and what influence could he have had over the 
mind of a Jew, if he had not been gifted with miraculous 
powers ?" 

'* I have perceived," said James, ** that the children's 
minds are not much afi^ected by the miracles of Jesus. Yoti 
noticed that Fanny asked why they would not believe in 
Jesus, because he was so good. Dear child ! she rejoiced 
that he could perform miracles, only because it enabled him 
10 heal the sick and raise the dead." 

e* 



66 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

*' If all hearts were like Fanny's," said her mother, 
" there would certainly have been no need of miracles to 
convince people that the religion of Jesus was true. And 
does not this view of the reception of truth in her pure 
mind lielp us more perfectly to understand the meaning of 
{he de(;laration, ' Except ye become as little children, ye 
cannot enter into the kingdom of heaven?' and is it not a 
beautiful thing, James, to have our children thus bring back 
to us the religious instruction we have given them, more 
pure and excellent than we could give it ? I never converse 
with Fanny upon religious subjects without finding my own 
faith strengthened." 

James sat silent and looking very serious, for some mi- 
nutes, wishing in his heart that he could have such an en- 
tire and confiding faith as his wife and child had ; but he 
could not resolve to express his doubts to Alice ; he could 
not bear to give her the pain of knowing how far Ralph had 
influenced his opinions. At last he said, *' Ralph thinks 
that, if there ever had been such a thing as miracles, there 
is no reason why there should not be miracles again in or- 
der to satisfy the minds of those who cannot be convinced 
in any other way." 

*' It seems to me," replied Alice, '' from all the inform.a- 
tion that I have been able to obtain, that the historical evi- 
dence of the miracles of Jesus is sufficiently strong ; and 
if so, the miracles which were then performed must have 
now, on candid minds, the same convincing powder as if 
they were performed before their own eyes. They cannot 
reasonably expect that God should grant them special aid 
in discovering the truth, when he has given them power 
and opportunity to ascertain it by their own faithful exer- 
tion." 

*' But," said James, *' we should find it more easy to be 
satisfied with the historical evidence, if the facts themselves 
were not so unlike any thing we know^ from our own ex- 
perience. Some persons, to be sure, believe that they have 
themselves experienced such a special aid ; but how can 
they prove to themselves, or others, that they are not im- 
posed upon by their own imaginations ?" 

*' There can," rejoined Alice, "of course be no oulward 
proof of such special divin'^ agency ; no proof which must 
satisfy every one, except the performance of miracles. But 
I do not believe that there is nothing in our own experience 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 67 

in any way like those wonderful assurances of an ever- 
watchful Providence, giving us light and strength where 
our own powers are truly insufficient to the task appointed 
us." 

*' But an unbeliever would ask, ' AVhat proof can you 
bring that any such aid is ever given ?" 

** The events in the history of our own hearts," replied 
Alice, *' are, to be sure, only matters of personal experience, 
and not sufficient to serve as proof to others. But, even if 
we have not ourselves experieiiced instances of such spe- 
cial divine assistance, it is natural and right that our faith 
should receive strength from the experience of others, in 
whose sincerity and conscientious examination of their own 
hearts, we have reason to repose confidence. But these are 
special grounds of private faith : and what is most convinc- 
ing to ourselves, may be little capable of being communi- 
cated and brought home to other minds. The simple truth, 
as it is in Jesus, is sufficient to convince our reason ; and 
where our confidence in our own reason is not strong enough 
to raise our faith above every temptation to doubt, the mi- 
racles he wrought are as a helping hand held out to the sink- 
ing spirit. Thus we find in Jesus all that our nature longs 
for or requires. When he calls upon us ' to judge of our- 
selves w^hat is right,' he addresses himself to our strength ; 
when he bids us to ' believe him for the very works' sake,' 
he adapts himself to our weakness." 



** Ralph," said Mr. Vincent, as they sat down to break- 
fast, " I have thought of the best plan for bringing yon to 
your senses, and making a man of you again." Ralph 
loved his father, and had a good temper, so he submitted to 
this humiliating address. 

" Wliat are you going to do to me, sir?" 
" I am going to marry you right off to Jane." 
*' Thank you, sir; there is nothing I should like better. 
But how will you manage the matter? Jane must be con- 
sulted, I suppose." 

'' I'll see to that," said the old man. "I'm going there 
as soon as I have done my breakfast." 

Accordingrly Mr. Vincent set off for a visit to Jane, elated 
with the belief that he should certainly succeed in his un- 
dertaking. Jane received the good man with a sincere and 
affectionate welcome. " As I have not much time to spare, 
Jane, I must come to the point directly. I mean that you 



68 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

and Ralph shall be married at once, and I want to have the 
time and every thing settled before I leave Boston, which 
will be at eleven o'clock.*' 

Jane was too much accustomed to Mr. Vincent's abrupt 
manner to be offended with it; and she had a traly filial 
affection for him. She looked very sad, and seemed un- 
willing to answer. " Come, Jane," said he, " you are too 
good and sensible to be uppish about a man's manner when 
he means right ; come, speak up, and say when you'll be 
ready ; here's money enough for gimcracks, and there's 
enough more where this came from. It's all yours and 
Ralph's ; and for the want of a better let me be your father, 
and you shan't have any thing to complain of, if I can help 
it. I can promise you an old man's love, and an old man's 
blessing, indeed an old man's thanks if you marry my son ; 
and so, if you love him, as I reckon you do, what's to hin- 
der?" 

The tears ran down Jane's cheeks, and she still made 
no answer. The old man fidgeted about, and got up, and 
walked about the room, and sat down, and then walked 
about again. '' Come, Jenny, dear, take courage and say 
w^hat's on your mind," 

*' Ralph knows," at last she said, ** why I do not marry 
him ; he knows that I could not venture to trust my happi- 
ness with a man that holds such opinions as he does." 

'* A fiddlestick," said the old man, '' for his opinions, or 
perhaps this stick might be better for them," lifting up his 
walnut cane : '' I tell you, Jane, the boy is only a fool ; he's 
trying to make a brute of himself ; but after all he is a man, 
and he can't help that, and you'll bring him to his senses, 
if you marry him. Jane, you'll make a man of him again, 
I'm certain that you will. The yoke will bring him to ; 
there's nothing like the yoke, depend upon it. I've tried 
it. and I know what it is with the stubbornest creatures; 
ril burn all his lying books, and we'll make him go to 
meetinor twice a day, and he'll come out, in three months, 
as slick as a sheep newly washed and shorn." 

'*I am afraid," said Jane, "that I should never succeed 
in clianging his opinions, and should run the risk of having 
my own changed, and so peril my own soul." 

" Now, Jane, that's what I call nonsense," answered the 
old man; "as for your own opinions, you have only to do 
as I do, and say you won't have them changed ; and as for 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 69 

his opinions, a conceited jackanapes, didn't a woman, a 
Miss what's her name. Miss Wright, (well named, Fm sure, 
for she's missed the right, for an honest woman ;) but as I 
was saying, that iNIiss AVright, a fool of a woman, has made 
an infidel of him, and you, a woman of common sense, 
can't you make him a Christian ? I'll lend a hand to the 
good work, Jane, if you'll only put your shoulder to the 
wheel first; but it must be your work, for he won't mind 
me. 

Jane drew a deep sigh, and said nothing ; she looked 
very sad. '*Come, dear Jenny," said the old man tenderly, 
"come, consent to marry my foolish boy; bad as he is, he 
has good stuff in him, though it's his old father that says 
so. You can save him from ruin, you can save my gray 
hairs from being brought in sorrow to the grave. Come, 
consent to be my daughter, my own best child." The 
tears rolled fast down Jane's cheeks, but she was silent. 
*' Speak, Jane, O speak," said Mr. Vincent; ''may I go 
tell Ralph that you will marry him as soon as all things are 
ready ?" 

''I cannot, O, I cannot," said Jane; *' I could die for 
Ralph, I would willingly die to save his soul ; but how can 
I promise before God always to love and honour one who 
does not believe in Him ? O, I dare not do it. How could 
I expect, how could I pray for his blessing upon us ? I can, 
I do pray day and night, that Ralph may be converted, that 
his heart maybe touched, that he m,ay be turned from the 
error of his ways ; but do not till then ask me to marry 
him; my conscience forbids it." 

The old man looked deeply distressed. *' Poor Ralph," 
he said, and the tears ran down his cheeks, *' there is 
nothing now to save him from his folly. V/ell," he said, 
and he struck his cane hard upon the floor, " well, I may 
as well go home ; I might as well have stayed there, for 
any good I've done by coming. And is this all you've got 
to say to me, Jane ?" 

" O 1" answered she, '* if I could only say to you, how 
grateful I am to you for your kindness, and if I could only 
be sure that you would forgive me and still love me ! If 
you knew all I suff'ered, you would, I am sure, you are so 
good." 

" Poh ! poh !" said the old man, " I an't good, or I 
shouldn't hav« such a son ; I'm afraid I didn't sow the 



70 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

fear of God in his heart when he was a boy, or ho would 
not have such a crop of weeds in his silly brains. He has 
not been trained up in the way he should go. Well, I can 
tell him, however, that he shan't have my money to hire 
theatres to blaspheme his Maker in, or to buy infidel books 
wiih. But it's time for me to go. Good-by : God bless 
you, Jane, though you have refused the old man ; but you 
mean right, so here's my hand, and you shall be as if you 
were my own child, though you don't marry that scape- 
grace of a son of mine." Jane pressed and kissed the hard 
hand of the good old man, and they parted. 



Alice met her husband at the door, and taking his hand as 
he entered, " I wish," said she, "to speak with you before 
you see Fanny." In her eagerness to communicate what 
she had to say, Alice did not perceive his disturbed expres- 
sion of countenance, and she went on to relate what her 
heart was full of. The doctor, she said, had just gone, and 
had declared that Fanny was fast growing worse ; that she 
was no longer a subject for medicine, and that the only 
thing that would do her good was a change of air and exer- 
cise ; that if she could go to ride in good weather, there 
v/as a chance for her life, as she was so young. '* Now, 
James, with a little economy, we can manage to meet this 
expense ; and I wanted you to know what the doctor said 
beforehand, that you might speak of the thing to Fanny in 
such a way as to prevent her thinking of the cost of riding ; 
for you know she is so conscientious and considerate, that 
it will be impossible to make her go, if she thinks it is 
more than we can afford." As Alice finished speaking, 
her husband sunk down in a chair, and covered his face 
with his hands. *' Don't, my dear husband, be disheart- 
ened," said Alice ; " her life may yet be spared to us ; the 
doctor seemed to have much hope from the effect of exer- 
cise in tlie open air. It looks as if it would be a fair day 
to-morrow, and we will begin then and try tlie effect of it, 
and take her out every fair day. When you cannot go 
with her, I will ; you can hire a gentle horse that I can 
drive, and let us hope that this will restore her. I feel as 
if it would." 

As she finished speaking poor James actually groaned 
aloud. ** Yes, I will do it, I will go there," said he ; 
** the sin be upon his head who drives me t© it: I will go 
now and tell Ralph to engage mc a place ;" and he was 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 71 

going out of the door, when his wife caught him by the arm 
and implored him to tell her what he meant. '' I mean," 
said he, '* that I have been turned out of the office as an 
infidel, and tliat, for aught I know, I shall be a beggar ; and 
that I slrall have no money to pay for a chaise for Fanny, 

unless I can get in at " He stopped, for he could not 

bear to tell Alice where he thought of going. 

The mind of poor Alice for a moment was bewildered. 
*' But, James, you are not an infidel," she said at last ; 
*' and how could you in any way deserve this treatment?" 

*' No," said James, *' I did not deserve it ; I am not an 
infidel." 

" Thank God for that," said Alice. 

*' But if I was, do you think that he has a right to punish 
me for my opinions?" 

" I do not think it would be the best way to make you 
a Christian," said his wife ; ''but let us be Christians, James, 
and he cannot hurt us." 

" But he does hurt us," said James. " It will be known 
everywhere that I was turned out of employ because I was 
an infidel, and I do not believe that I could get in at any 
other ofhce but one, and there T must go." 

" What office," said Alice, " not the " 

*' The office," said James, '' where they print liberal 
books, as they call them, which means infidel, atheistical, 
or any other books." 

" And will you go there ?" said his wife. 

" How can I support you and the children ? how can I 
find money to pay for carrying Fanny to ride ? sliall I see 
her die, when I might save her life ? No, I will go ; it is 
my duty to go ; I don't write the books, or make people read 
them ; I only print them instead of another man. I am as 
innocent as the press itself; I will go." And he was hurry- 
ing out of the house. 

" James ! my husband !" cried Alice, " for the love of 
God, stop! Consider of it at least till to-morrow ; all Chris- 
tians are not so bigoted as this man ; you will get employ 
in another office. Fear not for the morrow ; the money 
can be obtained. Try to be calm ; but above all things do not 
let Fanny see your trouble. You will feel better to- 
niorrow. My heart is not cast down ; my husband is still 
a Christian ; his faith has not been overcome ; only compose 
yourself. Come in, and see our sweet Fanny; she has 



72 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

been asking for yon; she will raake you feel better ; she 
seems already one of the kingdom of heaven. Tell her 
you will take her to ride to-morrow. I know how I can earn 
the money ; do not be anxious about that, my dear James." 

The words of Alice fell like oil upon the troubled spirit 
of her husband. He silently took her hand, and went with 
her into the chamber of his sick child. '* Father, I am so 
glad to see you ! Come and sit close by me. I think I feel 
stronger when I am holding your's or mother's hand," and 
Fanny put her little thin hot hand into her father's, as he 
placed himself by her. The touch opened the fountains 
of tenderness in James's heart, and the tears ran fast down 
his cheeks. " Do you know, father," said Fanny, •' that 
the doctor is not going to give me any more medicine ? and 
that he wants me to ride ? I am so glad that I have no more 
of those terrible doses to take ; do you think you can take 
me to ride, father ?" 

" Yes, my child, you shall go to-morrow ; and James felt 
at the moment as strong a faith as Alice's, that the means 
could be obtained. All his angry, all his anxious feelings, 
were lost in one overwhelming fear lest he should have to 
part with his little Fanny. The child went on. " Father, 
don't you wish that Jesus was on earth now, that he 
might heal the sick, and don't you think he would make 
me well ? You know he was always kind to children, and 
perhaps if you or mother were to, go and ask him, when 
you came home you would find me as well as the centurion 
did his servant when he returned. Or perhaps he would 
come to me. The other night when mother was holding 
me, my pain grew better, and I fell asleep ; I dreamed that 
he took me in his arms, and I waked up and I found mother's 
arms were close round me. Will you, father, take my 
Testament, that my teacher at the Sunday-school gave me, 
and read to me about Jesus healhig the sick ?" Her father 
did as she requested him. She listened for a short time ; 
she then grew sleepy, and her mother put her to bed. 
" Thank you, dear father," she said, as she bade him good 
night ; " I feel better now, and we shall go to ride to- 
morrow. Shan't we ?" 

" Yes, my child, we will ;" and he kissed her. 

Alice's vv'ords were verified. Fanny had made her father 
feel better. He sat silent for a long time, thinking over his 
intimacy with Ralph, and the arguments he had used to 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 73 

prove his religion false, and the books he had been induced 
l3y him to read. He tried to sum up all the evidence that 
had been presented to him against the truth of Christianity, 
and he felt that the simple and confiding faith of this little 
child was of more weight than the whole of it. As this 
tliought was passing through his mind, he sat with Fanny's 
Testament still open in his hands, turning over the leaves 
almost unconsciously, when this passage arrested his atten- 
tion, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as 
a little child, shall not enter into it. " V/ould I were a 
litde child," he said to himself; ''would I were in the 
place of my dear Fanny ! How gladly would I die to save 
her life ; how gladly would I die if I could by that means 
obtain such a sweet confiding faith ! T have said I was not 
an infidel, and, thank God, I am not; but my mind has 
wandered away from its quiet home of faith and love, and 
wasted its time and powers like a foolish prodigal. It has 
fed upon husks, and now has only strength enough left to 
return and throw itself into the arms of a pitying father. 
And yet, as Ralph says, if our faith is true, v/hat is the 
harm of hearing objections made to it, and how could I help 
the effect they produced ? How is it that Alice was never 
puzzled by Ralph ?" As he came to this part of his silent 
soliloquy, he said aloud to his wife, '' How is it, Alice, that 
your faith is so strong and undoubting ? You do not, like 
Jane, think it is dangerous and even wicked to reason upon 
the subject; you do not shun argument; but, it seems to 
me, the more you hear and the more you think, the more 
satisfied you are of the truth of our religion. You are 
never tormented with doubts, and I can see that your faith 
grows stronger and stronger every day. How is it?" 

" It is the study of this book," said Alice, putting her 
hand on the New Testament. '• It is the very story itself, 
which is to me a proof of its truth. It must be true, for 
any one that could utter a falsehood could not have invented 
such a story. The character of Jesus is so natural, so all 
of a pi-ece, so faultless, and yet so real. How came such 
a story to exist as this book contains, and how came it to 
be believed for so many years, if it was not true ? It is far 
more difUcult to believe it false than to believe it true. And 
if it is true, then the more we think of it, the more we read 
it, the more we have it by heart, the more truly shall we 
believe in it." 

7 



74 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

" I have not read and studied it enough," said James, 
** or I have not read it in the right way. I believe it is true, 
but T do not believe it as you do. With me it is only an 
acquaintance, but to you, Alice, it is a familiar friend." 

'' We once began to study it together, you remember, 
James." 

*' I do, Alice ; and I forsook it for the miserable works 
of unbelievers. I have too often left the society of my wife 
and children for the vain and heart-chilling talk of Ralph." 

" Let us," said Alice, " begin again to read the Bible 
together." 

" We will," said James ; *' you and Fanny shall be my 
teachers." After a few moments James continued ; '' To 
tell you the truth, Alice, 1 think that Ralph keeps up his 
courage when he talks of annihilation by means of his fa- 
vourite whisky-punch ; and, with the blessing of God, I 
do believe that it is my promise to abstain from spirituous 
liquors that has saved me. If I had once begun to drink, my 
mind would have become muddy, and I cannot tell how far 
I might have gone. This evening I felt so badly at the 
thought of being turned out of the office, and of not having 
any thing for you and the children, that I did really want 
to drown my cares for a while, till I got over the blow." 

"And then," said Alice, "Fanny would not have had 
her father to read her to sleep, and I should not have had 
my husband to comfort and bless me." 

" Yes," said James, " I should have come with my angry 
passions inflamed, and my mind stupified, and even you 
and Fanny could not have made me fee] as I do now. I 
thank God, that I made that promise to you, Alice ; it is 
tliat which has saved me. I had better have let those books 
alone, and been studying the Bible with you and Fanny. I 
had a sort of curiosity to know what these infidels had to 
say, but I have suifered enough from it." 

" And why," said Alice, " have you not told me that you 
were unhappy?" 

" Because," said James, " I could not bear that you 
should know that I doubted for a moment whether our re- 
ligion was true ; and then, whenever I saw you and the 
children, I felt better; it seemed as if I caught some of the 
strength of vour faith. This has been my state of mind 
for months." 

" You have," said Alice, " for some time been studying 



THE PERILS OF IXFIDKLITY. 75 

all on one side of the question ; let iis now study the other 
together. Let the past be forgotten." 

"All," said James, *' except the good lessons we may 
learn from it ; and to-morrow shall be the beginning of a hap- 
pier life to us." 



PART THIRD. 

Jane loved her cousin Alice very tenderly, and her disin- 
terested nature had sincerely rejoiced in the thought tliat she 
was possessed of a happiness which in her own case was 
not to be hoped for. She had believed that the love of 
James and Alice was founded upon the basis of a common 
faith. She knew that Ralph was making every effort to un- 
dermine James's religious belief; but, unmoved as she was 
in her own mind by all his arouments, she had never really 
believed that he would succeed with James. She well knew 
the character of Ralph, and his determination that every 
thing should bend to his wishes ; and that this made him 
often give a false colouring to facts. She doubted the accu- 
racy of the account he had given her of the state of James's 
views. She accordingly went to see Alice, and inquire into 
the affair for herself. Alice gave her a simple and full ac- 
count of the causes of her husband's dismission from the 
printing office, of his feelings and opinions, and of the pre- 
sent state of his mind. " You know, Jane, that James has 
ever been one of those who must have proof of every 
thing. Like Thomas, be must see the print of the nails. 
His heart is already a believer ; and our good doctor is try- 
ing to convince him that a right use of his reason will 
afford him satisfactory evidence of the truth of our religion. 
He has brought him Sermons on the Evidences, and he has 
recommended to him to make a careful and faithful study 
of the history of Jesus as given by the Evangelists. 
Through these means I hope, and feel assured, that my 
husband's faith w^ill yet be made whole. And yesterday, 
Jane, after he had come home from taking our little Fanny 
to ride, I saw him take the Bible and go into a room by 
himself. Once or twice, as I went in and out for some- 
thing, I just caught the expression of his countenance, and 
he appeared like a man that was reading a story that he had 



76 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

never read before. Any one might have thought, as they 
looked at his face, that life or death depended upon the 
truth of what he was readinor." 

o 

"And surely," said Jane, *'it is life or death that de- 
pends upon the truth of this story. O ! could not Dr^ 
Howell convert Ralph?" 

'' They held a long argument last evening," replied 
Alice, " and I thought that the doctor succeeded in making 
some impression upon him. He obliged him to acknowledge 
one or tvvo truths that he began with denying." 

*' O! thank Heaven," said Jane. 

*' 1 expect the doctor again this evening," continued 
Alice, '' I wish it might so happen that Ralph would fall 
in." 

*' I shall see him in the course of the day," said Jane, 
eagerly, " and I will ask him to come here with me." She 
then bade good morning to her cousin and returned home» 

" Mother," said little Fanny, who entered soon after, " I 
did not quite understand all that was said last evening as I 
was lying down in the bed-room ; but it appeared to me 
that Doctor Howell was trying to prove that there is a 
God." 

" It is true, my child ; he was." 

" Is there any one," said Fanny, " who does not believe 
in God ?" 

** Yes, my child." 

** Then I am sure they cannot think ; why, I feel as if I 
should have known it even if you, mother, had not told 
me. While you were talking, I was looking up at the 
moon ; and I was thinking that it could not hang up there 
so beautifully all by itself; that there must be, as you have 
told me there was, some great and good Power who held 
it there. There was another reason that came into my 
mind ; it is this happy feeling I have in my sick-room. 
Why, mother, it does not seem a dull place at all to me. 
Sometimes, when my body is in pain, and I can hardly 
move myself, I feel very happy. Even when you are 
away frojn me, I do not feel alone ; and I am sure it must 
be, that God is with me then, and makes my heart so hap- 
py and strong." 

Jane came in the evening, accompanied by Ralph. He 
said, as he entered, " I hope I shall see that preaching doc- 
tor again ; for I think he will not get the better of me in 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 77 

tli3 argumeni to-nigiU. 1 suppose you hope, Jane, that he 
will; I wish you wouhl give up your superstition and lis- 
ten to reason." With Ralph, this meant, "liftleu to me." 
As soon as Dr. Howell entered, Ralph began ; *' As there 
are so many of the free inquirers, doctor, who yet believe 
in a First Cause, I will relinquish that argument to you ; 
but I think you will have to give up tlie argument in favour 
of revealed religion." . This he said with an air of great 
confidence, and as if he was sure of victory. 
, Dr. How^ell answered very quietly, '' I should be glad to 
hear your arguments ; and if I can find no answer to them, 
I will give up and acknowledge I am conquered, and hop3 
that some more worthy champion may take up the cause." 

*' In the first place," said Ralph, " we deny the truth of 
the miracles. We think, with Mr. Hume, that it is a much 
more probable thing that a story should he invented, than 
that the laws of nature should be violated. There may 
have been such a man as Jesus, but all the won:!erful sto- 
ries about him are the inventions of his followers." 

*' Have you ever read the Dudleian Lecture, upon 
Hume's argument, or any other treatise in defence of the 
miracles ?" 

''No!" said Ralph. 

'' k free-inquirer should read both sides or he has liardly 
a right to his name. If you had read only those remarks, 
you would have learned that this argument of Hume proves 
loo much. We have the book here, and we will refer to 
the very w'ords. ' This argument of Hume's,' says the 
writer, ' proves too much, and therefore proves nothing. It 
proves too much ; for if I am to reject the strongest testi- 
mony to miracles, because testimony has often deceived me, 
whilst nature's order has never been found to fail, then I 
ought to reject a miracle, even if I should see it with my 
own eyes, and if all my senses should attest it, for all my 
senses have sometimes given false reports, whilst nature has 
never gone astray ; and, therefore, be the circumstances 
ever so decisive or inconsistent with deception, still I must 
not believe what! see, and hear, and touch, what my senses, 
exercised according to my most deliberate judgment, de- 
clare to be true. All this the argument requires ; and it 
proves too much, for disbelief in the case supposed is out 
of our power, and is instinctively pronounced absurd ; and, 
what is more, it would subvert that very order of nature on 



78 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

which the argurnent rests : for this order of nature is 
learned only by the exercise of my senses and judgment, 
and if these fail me, m the most unexceptionable circum- 
stances, then their testimony to nature is of little worth.' 

** In the preceding paragraph, the writer adduces another 
argument, which, to a believer in the existence of God, I 
should think would have great weight. He says ; * If there 
is a Being higher than nature, the origin of all its powers 
and motions, and whose character falls under our notice and 
experience as truly as the creation, then there is an addi- 
tional standard, to which facts and statements are to be re- 
ferred ; and works, which violate nature's order, will still 
he credible, if they agree with the known properties and 
attributes of its author ; because, for such works we can 
assign an adequate cause and sufficient reasons, and these 
are the qualities and conditions on w^hich credibility de- 
pends.'" 

" This argument is not much to me," said Ralph ; ** all 
these things I consider as dreams." 

*' I cannot say so," said James ; *' my reason teaches me 
that there is a God, a Creator ; and I cannot help attaching 
certain attributes to him. I cannot help thinking that, if 
there is a God, he must have a regard for the beings he has 
created, that he must be just and good." 

"And if," said the doctor, " there is a Creator, and he 
is just and merciful, what is there strange or difficult in be- 
lieving that he may interrupt the order of nature, which he 
himself has established for a beneficent purpose, when a 
more beneficent purpose is answered by its interruption than 
by its continuance ? We see a peculiar call for this exer- 
tion of his power, when men, from the very perfection of 
his works, are induced to stop short of the mighty hand 
that has set every thing in order, and worship the result 
instead of the cause." 

*'T3ut we worship nothing," said Ralph. 

** 1 ask pardon ; I must deny that. Miss AVright and other 
infidel writers recognise and deify nature, the law of nature, 
the order of things, as if it were a Supreme Power. There 
is only this difference ; they ascribe all things, visible and in- 
visible, to an unintelligent, unconscious something, a sort of 
blind, irresistible chance, a stern, unmeaning fate ; while the 
Christian ascribes law ana order, the effects of intelligence, 
to an intelligent cause ; and consequently sees, in the laws 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 79 

of nature and the order of things, the evidences of an om- 
nipotent intelligence, the works and the government of the 
God of nature ; in short, the infidel believes in an omnipo- 
tent ignorance, and the Christian in an omnipotent wis- 
dom." 

*' But," said Ralph, '* what has this to do with the ques- 
tion of miracles ?" 

*' Why, much ; all that a Christian demands :" answered 
the doctor. " If we acknowledge a Power superior to na- 
ture, then what objection is there to believing in miracles ? 
Admit design, and power to accomplish design, and then 
we have but two questions, to ask ; What was the design 
of miracles ? and, Is there sufficient historical evidence that 
they were actually performed ?" 

"• Ah, there's the rub," said Ralph ; '' how can you prove 
the facts?" 

"It is impossible to do justice to such an argument in 
a small compass," said Dr. Howell ; ** but I will ask you a 
few questions. Do you doubt w^hether such a man as Je- 
sus Christ really lived ?" 

'* Why, I suppose a man so called did live." 

*' That such a m.an lived, and called himself the Messiah, 
and was crucified by Pontius Pilate, is a matter of history, 
and proved by the writings of those who were enemies of 
his religion. The next question is, What was his charac- 
ter and his conduct? What did he teach? What, in 
short, was his history? Now we find four diiTerent ac- 
counts of the life of Jesus, written near enough to the time 
when he lived to have made it possible to detect and expose 
any false statements they might contain. They all agree 
in describing him as a model of the most perfect, of an un- 
heard-of excellence ; while he declared himself to the Jews 
as the Messiah, still disdaining to avail himself of their 
selfish prejudices and narrow preconceptions of his character 
and mission. He stands all alone in unapproachable puri- 
ty : instructing those who despised him ; reproving the 
wicked though in power ; comforting and blessing the poor, 
the atllicted, the forsaken ; healing the sick, raising the 
dead, declaring to ail a life to come, a day of future rewards 
and punishments. We see him foregoing all the comforts, 
all the pleasures of this world ; devoting every moment of 
his existence to the promotion of the highest interests of 
men, and finally laymg down his life for them, by volun- 



80 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

tarily submitting to an ignominious death to prove the truth 
of his mission and bring them to God. We hear of him 
again, rising from the tomb, and declaring to his disciples, 
that he was going to his Father and their Father, and that 
they and all his true disciples should follow him. 

" This story is told by four different men, agreeing in 
all essentials, and yet with such differences in each narra- 
tive as might naturally happen, which on this account in- 
crease the credibility of the whole, as they remove all sus- 
picion of any preconcerted plan. If this story be true, we 
must believe in all that it teaches. If it be false, we have 
to believe that the most sublime, the only model of perfect 
excellence ever held up to the admiration of mankind was 
drawn by impostors ; that the most exalted conception of 
moral truth ever presented to man was given by deceivers ; 
v/ho contrived this fiction and devoted themselves to the 
defence of it, not with any hope of worldly advantage, but 
with the certainty of persecution and the prospect of death 
for their reward. Surely, if the infidels can believe this, 
they have a capacity of belief, a blind credulity, which ex- 
ceeds that of the greatest enthusiast in religion ever known, 
nay, even of the wildest fanatics." 

Ralph fidgeted about, and, strange to say, was not pre- 
pared with an answer. He had never read, he had never 
heard any calm argument in defence of Christianity : all 
liis learning, all his skill, had been exercised in finding ar- 
guments against it. He was prepared for abuse, for per- 
secution, for any thing but reason. Ralph^s self-conceit, 
which had eaten up all the better qualities of his nature, 
was most sorely fretted by being worsted in an argument 
in the presence of Jane, whom he yet hoped to convert to his 
own views, and of James, who had never been able to foil 
him in debate. Anger at last helped him to words. '* It's 
not worth while," said he, '* to talk about these things with 
any one who can swallow down all the marvellous stories 
in the Bible. I can only say, like the poor negro, 'I won't 
believe any of them.'" 

*' Eiforts of wit," said the doctor, coolly, " are very 
common and very easy upon religious subjects ; but when 
Lord Bacon declared, ' that he would rather believe all the 
fables of the Talmud and the Koran, than that this uni- 
versal frame is without a Mind,' he by his single name left 
a shield broad enough to defend any coward who might be 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 81 

frightened by the shafts of real wit, or the sticks and stones 
that the ill-furnished hands of the ignorant may cast at him 
on account of his belief." 

Ralph perceived that he had merely offended the doctor's 
taste ; and he felt somewhat as the man does, who is con- 
victed of a vulgarism or an impropriety in the presence of 
one of pure and refined manners and feelings. He made 
another effort at getting upon tenable ground. '' Look, sir," 
he said, w^ith an oratorical air, *' look at the whole history 
of the clergy, or rather at the bloody story of priestcraft. 
Let the gloomy walls of the Liquisition reveal their fright- 
ful secrets. Li whose name have all these enormities been 
committed?" 

'' In the hallow^ed name of Him," answered the doctor^ 
" whose whole life and every w^ord denied and rebuked such 
deeds. In the name of the peaceful Jesus, who taught that 
all men are brethren, blood has been shed like rain ; in the 
name of Him w^ho denied himself, who refused all the dis- 
tinctions of the world, who preached against earthly glory, 
who washed his disciples' feet, w^ho declared that he came 
to minister to others ; — in his meek and holy name, power 
has been usurped ; the dearest rights of men have been tram- 
pled upon; wealth has been unjustly accumulated and ex- 
pended upon lawless passions and sinful pleasures, while 
the poor, whom lie came to save, have starved in the sight 
of the feast that they might not approach. Yes, these 
things, and w^orse than these, — cruelties not to be named, 
have been committed by men who have dared to call them- 
selves Christians. I know all this w^ell." 

*' How, then," said Ralph, '* can you vindicate such a 
system ?" 

*' Because I find," answered the doctor, " that for all 
these things the life and the teachings of Jesus not only 
furnish no apology, but are in direct contradiction to them ; 
and because I find further, that, in opposition to these trai- 
tors to the holy cause of Jesus, there is an innumerable 
army of those who have taken up the cross and follov/ed 
their Master's steps, — who have relinquished for his sake 
all that life has to give, — who have suffered tortures with- 
out uttering a complaint, — who have died, rejoicing that 
they died for his religion. More than this, I see millions 
humanized by faith in him. I see his ministers all over 
the world, carrying comfort to the broken-hearted, giving 



82 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

instruction to the ignorant, strength to the weak, and joy to 
the desponduig. I see them calling the thoughtless to con- 
sider, the mistaken and erring to learn wisdom, the sinful 
to repent. I see both these pictures ; both are equally 
true. I have, however, a firm faith that truth will yet 
conquer error ; that the religion of Jesus, as it is in its ori- 
ginal purity, w^ll prevail. This is the system I defend, 
because I am convinced it is the truth." 

*' It seems to me pretty plain," said Ralph, *' that a 
system which produces such very opposite effects must 
' have something wrong in it ; that it cannot, as you pretend, 
come from Heaven." 

*' I come to no such result," said the doctor ; '^ when 
I am satisfied, as I am from a faithful study of the history 
of Jesus Christ, that no evil effect can fairly be attributed 
to it; that his religion sanctions no principle and no action 
that is not in strict conformity with the law of reason and 
the law of love ; I see, in all the evil that has been done in 
his name, only a proof of the tendency of mankind to in- 
dulge their own selfish passions ; and their power to do this 
necessarily belongs to that moral freedom which is essential 
to virtue. Men cannot be constrained to be good or religious ; 
it involves a contradiction in terms : goodness must be their 
free choice, and the effect of the highest and best use of their 
own powers." 

" Well," said Ralph, " doctors will disagree. I can't 
sa^y I'm satisfied, but it is too late to bring up any more 
arguments to-night." 

** There is," said Doctor Howell, *' one subject which I 
v/ish to discuss with you ; upon which, if you are a true 
disciple of Miss Wright, we essentially agree, and respect- 
ing which we may therefore end more to your satisfaction. 
It is the capacity of man for improvement, whicli she re- 
cognises as his distinguishing characteristic. I shall visit 
my little patient to-morrow evening, and should like to talk 
further with you then, if it is agreeable to you." 

Ralph bowed, and giving his arm to Jane with rather a 
dissatisfied look, said, *' Good-night;" and the little party 
broke up. 

The discussions that Jane had listened to between Ralph 
and the doctor had convinced her of the perfect hopeless- 
ness of any change in his views. She had long felt per- 
suaded that it was right and best for her to be separated 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. S3 

from him entirely. She said nothing to him on the subject 
during her walk home, as she wished to avoid a scene that 
she felt herself unequal to bear. Her own mind had been 
stren<Tihened and enlightened by what she had heard, and 
she Celt, what she had never before experienced, a courage 
to do in this case what she was satisfied it was right should 
be done. The thought of the pain it would give Ralph 
softened her feelings towards him ; and when she broke the 
silence that she had maintained till they had reached her 
door, by bidding him good-night, it was in a tone of unu- 
sual tenderness. 

'*Why, dear Jane," said Ralph, " that ' Good night' 
should mean 'Walk in ;' " and he kept her hand and was 
about entering. 

" No, Ralph ; I am fatigued, I cannot ask you to 
walk in." 

Ralph seemed resolved to enter. *' You must not come 
in," she said ; " good-night, Ralph ! we must part now," 
and she hurried into the house. 

Ralph could hardly tell the reason, but he felt greatly 
disturbed. *' Why," said he to himself, " Jane spoke to 
me as if she really loved me ; and yet, if she does, how is 
it that she will not marry me ? It is strange that she can 
make such a point of my believing as she does. How 
kindly, how tenderly, and yet how sorrowfully she said 
' Good-night.' It's a pity I could not be turned into a 
Christian, to please her and my father, I wish I w^as like 
Jane ; I am not good enough for her, that's true. Heigh 
ho ! that preaching doctor has made me nervous ; I must 
take something to screw me up again." Ralph took his 
usual night-cap, as he called it, and awoke in the morning 
the same vain and conceited being as ever. 

The next time Ralph called to see Jane, he was told that 
she was gone into the country, and had left for him a letter. 

*' Dear Ralph, 

*' You are indeed dear to me, too dear, you well know 
it ; we have loved each other from our childhood, but we 
must part; a higher duty, a holier love than any mortal 
should inspire, commands it. I must not speak of my 
rebellious heart; He who has made it so tender, will, I 
trust, forgive its v/eakness", and accept the sacrifice I now 
make, and give me the strength I so much need. I never 



84 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KKOWLEDGE. 

could be happy as your ^vife ; the bond between us would 
want the sanction of Him who is the source of all true 
affection ; you could not unite with me in praying for His 
blessing, for you do notbelieve inHiin. In my highest duty, 
in my purest happiness, I should be separated from my 
husband. I feel assured that my best affections must be 
immortal ; you believe only in time, and can love me only 
with a limited love. Ralph, this is not an equal affection. 
I could not be satisfied with the love of an unbeliever. I 
believe I have a soul, a never-dying soul. I believe that 
you have one also : if we were married, our souls ought to 
mingle together and become at it were one ; then we could 
look with calmness upon the certain decay and change of 
these frail bodies ; for that within us which was the source 
and life of our love would be growing stronger and stronger, 
and becoming more pure forever. But this belief, which 
would be the substantial happiness of my life, my every- 
day joy and support, would be to you a dream. This 
would, this indeed does, make a gulf betw^een us. What, 
according to your view^s, do you love in me ? My fading 
cheek, that your fancy has been pleased with ; a form that 
youthful recollections have endeared to you ; a something 
which you see and hear, and which is pleasing to you ; but 
this is passing away so fast that you really love a spectre, 
an unreal thing. For what your senses can discover of me 
will soon have vanished from this world, and you believe 
in nothing beyond. I must love something real and endur- 
ing. I must be loved for what is real, unchanging, immor- 
tal in myself. I cannot be willing to be loved as a flower, 
that is plucked in the morning and cast away in the evening ; 
I cannot give an undying love to a dying thing, — neither 
can you ; if there is no soul, no futurity, no eternity in our 
love, there is no reality in it to me. 

" Tliese feelings and opinions have produced a settled 
conviction in my mind, that it is my duty to separate my- 
self entirely from you. I must not dwell upon the pain 
this effort gives me. I was an orphan when our love for 
each other began ; I had no brother or sister ; you know 
how my heart has clung to you ; how you have taken the 
place of every other earthly relation and affection. The 
love that most women divide among many near and dear 
friends, has in my case been stored up for one, for you alone. 
I have given y^u my heart in its youth, in its first glow, 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 85 

in all the strength of its love, as God gave it to me. You 
then need not be told what it costs me to part from you ; to 
give up the dearest hope of my life, and to cast myself into 
the solitude we feel when there is no one to whom' we may 
devote our whole hearts. Let the thought, dear Ralph, of 
my sufferings give yon at least the sad comfort that you do 
not suffer alone, and let it,— O .how fervently do I pray 
Heaven it may !— let it lead you to think more seriously of 
that religion, of that belief in a future life, which requires 
our separation. Look into your own soul,— indeed you 
have one, an undying soul,— O look into it ; call upon it, 
and It wdl declare to you its own rights, it will reveal itself 
to you. O, if your love for me is what mine has ever 
been for you, you must feel as if there was something 
Within you that is not of this earth, a something that cannot 
die ; if you do not cast off in a day the remembrance of 
your old playmate, of your tenderest friend, of one whom 
you would have, made your wife— if this remembrance, and 
this early love still clings to your heart, O let it teach you 
that there is something spiritual within you, somethino- that 
Siiall live again when these bodies die. If, Ralph, by the 
sacrifice not only of my earthly happiness but even of my 
life, I could waken your slumbering soul to a belief in it- 
self, in its own immortality, suffering would become unut- 
terable joy, and death would be a new life to me. 

'^ And now farewell ! dear Ralph, farewell !— May that 
Being, whom you do not believe in, still bless you, and 
one day bring you to himself. May that love, which you 
slight and turn aw^ay from, yet constrain you to throw your- 
self into His protecting arms, and, as a penitent child, may 
you yet be received and comforted. My prayers will go 
up to His mercy-seat with every rising and every setting 
sun, that you may be saved. Surely this hope and this 
love I may yet indulge. Again, farewell ! 

" Ever your true friend, 

''Jane." 

Ralph felt smitten to the heart by this letter. The pure 
love for himself, the heroic devotion to principle, which it 
manifested, for a moment awakened in him all that was left 
of what was generous and pure and tender in his nature. 
He had never loved Jane so deeply, so truly, as at that 
moment, when he saw himself deprived of the hope of be- 

8 



86 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ing united to her, even of the happiness of seeing her, and 
hearing her, and being allowed to express his love to her. 
He felt like our first parents when turned out of Paradise ; 
all the delight of existence seemed to have suddenly va- 
nished out of his reach ; all the decorations, the nameless 
charms which imagination and sentiment hang round the 
path of life, were swept away, as if by a cold wind. There 
was to him nothing left but a chilling, dull reality ; he felt 
all alone and desolate. That spiritual and immortal nature 
witliin him, which he denied, had unconsciously to himself 
been called forth by the pure-minded being whom he had 
truly loved ; and now, when it had lost this only object of 
its affection, it came back asking to whom it should go. It 
had denied the power from whence it sprung, and Ralph 
felt its presence and reality by its intense and hopeless suf- 
ferings, its unceasing cry of misery. Had he listened to 
this cry of his own suffering soul, had he called upon his 
reason to hear and explain the prophetic lament of an 
abused and neglected nature, Jane's prayer might then have 
been answered, and he might have been saved. He felt the 
divinity stirring within him, but he turned a deaf ear to the 
heavenly messenger; he called up passion, fiery, unre- 
strained passion to his relief. 

"This," he said, '• is the effect of this hateful religion ; 
it destroys every natural affection ; it wars against every 
thing real and true, and sacrifices every thing to its wild 
dreams, its cruel commands, its visionary virtue. It has 
made Jane, who by nature was formed so gentle and true, 
unfaithful to her promises, cruel to one who she knew loved 
her, and whom she herself loved ; she has used me ill, she 
has forsaken me ; nothing but her religion woukl have in 
duced her to have left me here to despair. She begs me, 
he continued, *' to think of the cause of our separation: she 
need not fear that I shall forget it; no ! my whole life shall 
be spent in opposing such an unnatural and hard-liearted 
system. Well has Miss Wright said, that it is the cause 
of all the evil there is in the world ; I hate it ; I have no- 
thing now to live for, but to revenge myself upon it by^ 
overthrowing its altars and exposing the absurdities of its 
followers, and, most of all, of its ministers. I liate tliem ; 
I hate the world that are their dupes ; I hate myself for 
living among them, and being a man; better be a dog, a 
horse, any thing that does not pretend to be religious, than 



»f 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 87 

a miserable, deluded Christian. I'll keep no terms with 
them now ; I will devote every farthing I earn, every facul- 
ty I possess, all my time to this great cause. Jane has 
broken tiie only bond between me and Christians ; now 
they are all my enemies." 

Thus fortified by the evil spirits of anger and revenge, 
Ralph set out with a new and almost fiendish determina- 
tion to defend the cause of infidelity, and Vv'ith a feeling of 
per.<onal animosity towards a religion, the object of which 
is to bring peace on earth and good-will to men. 



The change in little Fanny from this life to another ^vas 
fast going on. T'he pure and innocent child was fast be- 
coming one of those who constitute the unseen kingdom of 
heaven. The preternatural brightness of her eye, her high, 
expanded forehead, the snowy whiteness of her skin, and 
the almost unearthly expression of her whole face, gave 
sure indications that the spiritual was fast prevailing over 
the material nature, that the youthful soul was fast laying 
aside its earthly vestment and preparing for its upward 
flight. Alice saw and felt the sadly beautiful prophecy of 
her child's departure ; the mother's heart still hoped, still 
prayed that it might not be true, that she might still retain 
her treasure here ; and this nerved her hand to perform all 
those thousand little services which the sick and the d)^- 
ing require to smooth the painful passage from time into 
eternity. James sat by her bedside and w^atched her, till it 
seemed as if his soul became one with hers, and as if he 
caught some glimpses of a future life through her purified 
vision. 

'' Read to me, dear father," she would say in every in- 
terval of ease. '' Read to me about Jesus, about his raising 
Lazarus, and how he loved little children and blessed them. 
When I go to heaven, will he love me as well as you and 
mother do, and be as kind to me ?" 

When she saw that her father could not, from grief, an- 
swer her question, she w-ould draw his hand to her hot lips 
and kiss it, and say, with a smile, '' Do not cry, dear fa- 
ther ; you know that you and mother and brother and sis- 
ter will soon come after me, and then we shall never part 
again." At other times she would express a wish that she 
might stay longer in this pleasant world, and not leave those 
she loved so dearly ; but this state of mind was soon fol- 



88 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

lowed by a calm and cheerful submission to her heavenly 
Father's will. 

" God is good," she would say ; " I know God is good, 
and I will try to bear my pain, and to be willing to die, 
mother." Thus her sweet spirit gradually ascended to the 
world of spirits, leading home in its upward flight the souls 
of her earthly parents. O ! who can tell what revelations 
of a future life may be vouchsafed to the pure mind of a 
child in that mysterious hour, when the new-born spirit 
bursts its prison-house, and enters upon another life, its in- 
nocence unstained, its brightness undimmed by the con- 
tamination of earth. Such beings seem to hold a more ex- 
alted place, to have a higher mission in this life than the 
rest of mankind. They come as messengers from heaven 
to us ; their angelic looks, their pure lives, are their cre- 
dentials. They come to declare to us the existence of the 
spiritual world ; they go, that they may carry back our 
captive hearts with them ; they constrain us to love them ; 
they bid us remember them ; they call upon us to follow 
them. Surely, short as their existence may have been, 
they have not lived in vain. So felt James and Alice in 
that solemn hour, when they looked upon their sweet Fan- 
ny as an angel of God, and saw that her mortal part had 
faded and died in their arms, and that her spirit had gone 
to Him who gave it. 

They pressed the lifeless remains, the beautiful image of 
their child, to their aching hearts ; they wept, sorrowing 
that they should see her face no more. No more in this 
life ; but reason and the word of God promised that she 
should live again ; and it seemed to them as if her soul, 
before its departure, had declared to them its immortality. 
Never had these parents felt so truly convinced that death 
could have no power over the soul of their child, as at this 
moment of bereavement ; never was her intellectual, her 
moral existence, so real to them as now, when there was 
no answering voice from her to the questions their hearts 
were asking of the present state of felicity they felt assured 
she had entered upon. As Jaaies and Alice sat silent, 
watching the lifeless body of their precious child, the vio- 
lence of their grief at her loss was assuaged by the inde- 
scribable look of sublime peace, almost of joy, in her face. 
What is the cause of this beautiful appearance, no one can 
explain ; but all who have watched the dead, have observed 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 89 

it. It is a look, as though the departed spirit smiled once 
more through its mortal features, to assure the weeping 
friends of its existence and happiness ; it seems to say to 
us, '' Peace be unto you. Why are ye troubled, and why 
do thoughts arise in your hearts ?" 

The evening after James and Alice had committed the 
remains of their beloved child to the dust, they were sitting 
together with the clergyman and their friend the doctor, 
talking over the simple story of little Fanny's life ; the con- 
templation of which, while it awakened sorrow for her loss, 
brought with it a solemn, a sacred joy, — the promise of an 
abiJing peace. In one of those pauses in the conversation, 
when the mind of each one was so absorbed as to be un- 
conscious that there was no outward expression of thought, 
tliere was a hard knock at the door. James went to see 
who was there; and only stopping to say to his wife, that 
he was sent for on urgent business and could not say at 
what hour he should return, he left them. 

The clergyman and Dr. Howell soon after took their 
leave, and Alice was left alone with her sleeping children. 
Then, for a while, when no duty called upon her for imme- 
diate performance, then did the thought of the dead, of the 
departed one, swallow up all thoughts of the living ; then 
for a time, in solitude and silence, did that intense anguish 
come over her heart, which will not be stayed ; she threw 
herself upon the vacant bed of her little Fanny, and wept, 
as the mother will weep over the loss of the child of her bo- 
som, as the God of nature meant she should ; and here we 
leave her, to follow her husband to the sad scene to which 
he had been so suddenly called. 

It was a message from Ralph which James had received, 
the purport of which was, that he had a ^e\v words to say 
to him, but that they would be his last; and the messenger 
added that he believed he was dying. He said that he had 
heard the report of a pistol, and, shortly after, Ralph's bell 
was rung violently ; that when he answered the call, he 
found him lying on the sofa, but that Ralph had only given 
him the message which he had just delivered. 

When James entered the room, Ralph made an effort to 
sit up and to reach him his hand, but immediately fell back 
again on the sofa. 

*' I have made a bungling piece of work of it," said he ; 
" I thought I knew the right place, but I suppose I got ner- 

8* 



90 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

vous after all ; I did not like to put it to my brains ; I choose 
to look like a man even when I am dead ; but it will be all 
over soon, and we have no time to lose; so sit down close 

by me, James. I should like to send a message to " 

Here he stopped from fainlness. James perceived that he 
was liolding his side to stop the blood ; he rang the bell, 
sent for the doctor, and did the best he could for his dying 
friend till he came. The doctor pronounced the wound to 
be mortal, and only administered what his art could furnish 
to alleviate his sufferings, and then sat down by him with 
James to watch and assist him in his parting hour. At in- 
tervals, as his strength permitted, he uttered the following 
incoherent sentences. " Tell my father I was tired of 
living, and so I thought I might as well quit. That was a 
hard letter. James, do you really believe there is a God ? 
It can't be helped now. My poor father ! I hope he'll 
pay my debts ; but don't speak to him about the letter. It 
will be all over soon. Comfort the old man, if you can. 
It wasn't the letter. Can it be, that all does not end here ? 
If the doctor is right, what will become of me ? Give me 
some drink. I am very nervous. Poor dear Jane ! How 
clumsy I was ! She loved me truly. I have a queer feel- 
ing as if the power that put the pistol to my breast was 
something different from this dying body. There is a ques- 
tion for you, doctor. Can the body kill the body ? It 
puzzles me. But what's the use of thinking now ? It's a 
frightful gulf I've jumped into. Don't tell Jane of it. I 
had nothing left to live for. She was too good forme. Can 
you be right, doctor ? No ! no ! How dark it is ! Who 
stays when the entertainment is over and the lights are out ? 
James, do you really believe we shall all live again? But 
it's too late now ; I shall soon be at rest. Yes, at rest. 
That's the truth. Eternal rest ! These dreams torment 
me. O this thirst ! They shan't have a death-bed confes- 
sion from Ralph Vincent. Give me that punch ?" 

The doctor reached him a little cold water ; but before 
he could get it to his lips, Ralph was in the convulsions of 
death, and his soul had hastened unbidden into the presence 
of the Supreme Judge of all. 

An awful stillness reigned in the apartment for some mi- 
nutes after. The hour of death, when it comes at the ap- 
pointed time to the trusting Christian, who calmly and 
cheerfully goes at the call of his Creator to new scenes of 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 91 

virtue and higher happiness, is still a deeply solemn time ; 
but when he who believes this life to be the whole of exist- 
ence, rushes, unbidden, unprepared, from time into eterni- 
ty, the whole soul shudders at the contemplation of the 
fearful, the presumptuous crime ; and death is clothed with 
a new and an intolerable terror. There was no word of 
comfort uttered ; there was no uplifted eye, as if seeking 
to pierce the veil that hid from mortal vision the inconceiva- 
ble bliss of the departed spirit ; there was no tear of ecsla- 
cy at the remembrance of the declaration, " He is not dead, 
but sleepeth." Death, and death only, was present to their 
minds ; death, voluntarily chosen for the sake of its eter- 
nal stillness ; the coward's exchange for painful duty ; the 
cold, the frightful paradise of the infidel. Motionless and 
silent, the doctor and James sat looking at the lifeless re- 
mains before them, till their very souls seemed chilled at 
the terrible picture, and the frightful story that belonged 
to it. 

Dr. Howell was the first to make an effort to shake off 
the paralyzing eflect of the scene they had witnessed, and 
to remember that there were duties to perform. He under- 
took the care of the lifeless body ; and upon James devolved 
the painful task of informing the unhappy father of the 
event. 

When James entered his own house, he found Alice anx- 
iously waiting his return. She had suspected the message 
M'as from Ralph, but her simple heart little anticipated such 
a scene as her husband had been called upon to witness. 
" God be merciful to him !" was her first exclamation, after 
James had told her of all that had passed. " O, his poor 
old father !" was the next; " poor dear Jane too ! how will 
they be comforted ?" 

" When we stood over the death-bed of our dear Fanny," 
said James, " while my heart ached so bitterly at the 
thought of losing her, I yet knew nothing of death; but 
this night I have seen death in all its terrors. O, Alice, 
from w^hat have I been saved ! how do I thank m.y God 
that I have been saved from the frightful death of the un- 
believer ! It seemed as if his soul, that he had so abused, 
so denied, would once more be heard in its own vindication. 
He felt its existence, and that instinctive belief in a future 
life, which he had called superstition, returned upon him like 
an accuser before the bar of God, into whose presence he 



92 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

bad so rashly hurried. O, Alice, it is not argument alone, 
it is not reasoning alone, that will satisfy us ; but it is 
turning our attention to this something here witliin us, this 
consciousness of immortality placed here by our Creator ; 
it is listening to its teachings and trusting to its declaration, 
that there is a God, that we are spiritual beings, that the 
soul cannot die, that we shall all live again. It was pride, 
and vanity, and sensuality, that ruined Ralph ; his own soul, 
if he had not slighted its warnings, would have led him 
right. How can men desire to silence this voice of God 
within them, and turn themselves into brutes? O, Alice! 
and I too was once deaf to this holy word spoken to every 
man at his creation, telling him that he is a living spirit." 

James bowed his head and wept at the recollection of 
his own errors, and in humility and silence prayed fervent- 
ly to the God of mercy for his friend. 

Early the next morning James set off upon the melan- 
choly errand of informing old Mr. Vincent of the death of 
his son. " I am sorry to leave you at this time," said he 
to Alice, ''but I had better go myself, I think," 

'' Never mind me," answered his wife ; " think only how 
you can best break the sad news to the unhappy old man." 

'' Had I not better disguise from him the manner of 
Ralph's death?" 

'* I have never believed," answered Alice, " that any 
good can come from deception, or that we have a right to 
use it; I am always for having the truth met and endured 
at first ; strength is ever given when it is rightly sought for. 
You, 1 know, will tell him as gently and as tenderly as pos- 
sible ; and the terrible story had better be told him by a 
friend." 

Mr. Vincent on his return home had been much disap- 
pointed in not finding a letter from his son ; and when 
James arrived at his house next day, he was standing at the 
door, watching for the return of his messenger from the post- 
office. He was immediately struck with the expression of 
James's countenance, but, observing his mourning dress, 
he attributed it entirely to his sorrow at the loss of his 
child; and for a moment the kind-hearted old man forgot 
his own anxieties in his sympathy for the bereaved father." 
" You have lost your little girl, I see," said he, as he took 
James's hand ; '* I am soriy for you, but she was a good 
child." 



THE PERILS OF INFIDELITY. 93 

This change of thought and feeling was a great help to 
James in his sad task ; ii enabled him so to command him- 
self, that he entered the house and saw Mr. Vincent seated 
in his own old-fashioned elbow-chair, before his mind was 
again turned upon his son. 

*' When I first saw you," he said, " I thought you might 
have a letter from my Ralph ; have you seen him lately ?" 

** I have," said James ; but an involuntary shudder came 
over him as he uttered the words. 

Mr. Vincent perceived it. '* And — and — what's the mat- 
ter? Something has happened." 

" Yes," said James. 

'* What ? Tell me what ? Is he alive ?" 

James seized the old man's hand, and answered only by 
that dreadful silence that announces unutterable sorrow. 

*' O God ! my son ! my only child !" groaned out the 
old man. ^' Why did he not send for me ? Was it a fever ?" 

"No." 

*' What was it?" 

James could not answer. The sight of the old man's 
agony so palsied his faculties, that he knew not what to 
say. The unhappy father asked no more questions. James's 
looks and answers had served to reveal to him the truth ; 
his sufferings \vere too great for nature to endure, and he fell 
senseless upon the floor. 

It was some time before he came perfectly to himself, 
and then there was a sort of iron composure in his whole 
aspect. He insisted upon knowing every particular ; he 
wished to hear every word he had said. When James re- 
peated to him the words, *' Comfort the old man, if you 
can," he groaned, and wept like a child, but soon afterward 
he recovered himself and begged James to go on. After 
he had heard all, he went out of the room and ordered his 
horse to be put to his wagon. 

" You will return with me," said he. 

** Where are you going?" said James. 

'* To Aim," he answered, with a sort of convulsive calm- 
ness. '' Dead or alive, he's my son : and who will now be 
by him and follow him but his father ? I must be with 
him." 

James did not oppose him ; and sad and dreadful as were 
these last duties to his lost child, the old man felt a conso- 
lation in their performance. He saw the grave close over 



94 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

what had been to liim the dearest object in life, his only 
son, who had voluntarily resigned life, duty, and happiness, 
and with no hope for the future. All his worldly ambition 
was smitten to the earth ; he stood like a blasted tree, upon 
whose branches no green leaf should ever again be seen, 
James and Alice persuaded him to pass the night with 
them ; there \vas a fixed sorrow in his face, but he did not 
speak of his sufferings or of any thing that was past. The 
next morning he returned home. 



No. IV. 
PLAN OF READING. 



PART FIRST. 
SELECTION OF BOOKS. 

BY JOEL HAWES, D. D. 

In the choice of books there is great need of caution ; 
particularly in the spring season of life, while the mental 
and moral habits are yet in a process of formation. A 
person may be ruined by reading a single volume. The 
authors with which you are most familiar can hardly fail 
to impress on your minds their own image and superscrip- 
tion. Your habits of thinking, your sentiments, your social 
and moral feelings, your whole character will receive their 
shape and colouring, very much from the hooks you read. 
If these are wisely selected and properly studied, they will 
enlighten your minds, improve your hearts, and establish 
your character on the firm basis of virtue and piety ; if 
otherwise, they will enfeeble your intellects, corrupt your 
principles, and destroy your happiness. It is a maxim, then, 
ever to be borne in mind, take heed what ye read. 

To acquire useful wformation ; to improve the 7nind 
in knowledge, and the heart in goodness ; to become 
qualified to perform with honour and usefulness the duties 
of life, and prepared for a happy immortality beyond the 
grave, — these are the great objects rvhich ought ever to 
be kept in view in reading. And all books are to be ac- 
counted good or bad, in their effects, just as they tend to 
promote or hinder the attainment of these objects. 

Taking this as the criterion by which to regulate your 
choice of books, you will, I think, be led to i^ive an im- 
portant place to historiccd reading, especially to that 
which relates to our own country. History is the mirror 
of the world, la it we behold the origin and progress of 

95 



96 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

society, the rise and fall of empires ; we become acquainted 
with the institutions, laws, manners, and customs of dif- 
ferent nations, trace the course, and witness the progress 
of that silent, but mighty current that is continually bearing 
men and all their works into the gulf of oblivion, and see, 
as in a moving picture, the generations of our race, as they 
have risen into being, acted their part on the stage of life, 
and passed in quick succession with the years beyond the 
flood. Such scenes, contemplated in the light of authentic 
liistory, are replete with the most interesting and profitable 
lessons. Especially are they so, when they relate to our 
own country. And with the history of our own country every 
American citizen ought to be familiar. It is the history of 
a new world ; of a new state of society, established for new 
purposes, developing new views of the character and desti- 
ny of man ; and marked, in every stage of its progress, 
with the most signal interpositions of a gracious and all- 
pervading Providence. No history on earth is more in- 
teresting and instructive than that of New England. The 
heart of man and the hand of God are visible in every part 
of it; and every person, come to years of maturity, ought 
to be acquainted with it. " Whence we sprung ; from what 
race, at what time, in what circumstances, for what objects, 
and by what means, has the country to Vv^hich we belong, 
risen to its present glory and happiness," are inquiries, 
most deeply interesting in themselves, and to which every 
son and daughter of New England ought to be able to give 
a clear and rational answer. 

In addition to a knowledge of our own history, some 
acquaintance with the government and laws of the socie- 
ty in which we live, would seem an almost indispensable 
qualification of a good citizen. In ancient Rome, the very 
boys were obliged to learn the twelve tables by heart, as a 
necessary lesson to imprint on their tender minds an early 
knowledge of the laws and constitution of their country. 
This was a wise regulation; and if something of the kind 
were required of all our youth, the utility of it would no 
doubt be very great. 

Nearly related to history, and not less important, is 
biography. This is a kind of reading most happily adapted 
to minds of every capacity and degree of improvement. 
While it possesses a charm that can hardly Aiil to interest 
the feelings and engage the attention even of the most in- 



PLAN OP READING. 97 

curious and least instructed, it furnishes lessons of wisdom 
and prudence by which the wisest and the best may be 
profited. It makes you acquainted with the fairest and 
most excellent specimens of human character. It intro- 
duces you into the society of the great and the learned, the 
wise and the good; you mingle and associate with them in 
all their walks and ways ; you hear them converse ; you see 
them act; and mark the steps by which they attained their 
excellence, and rose to their elevation in honour and influ- 
ence. The effect of this cannot be otherwise than eminently 
happy. While conversant with such characters, a process 
of assimilation will be going on in your own minds. You 
will feel within you an influence, raising you above what- 
ever is base and polluting, and inspiring in you the love 
of whatever is noble and excellent. 

As to the miscellanies of the day, such as newspapers, 
pamphlets, and periodicals of various name, it is difficult 
to assign them their proper place in a course of reading. 
Some acquaintance with them seems indispensable. And 
yet a man who should attempt to read even a small part of 
what comes in his way, under the character of miscellany, 
would find time to read nothing else, and, what is worse, 
he would be likely to acquire a desultory, superficial habit 
of mind, which is altogether unfriendly to the acquisition 
of solid and useful knowledge. Here, if I mistake not, is 
an evil of great magnitude. We are, at the present day, 
flooded with miscellany ; overrun with light, fugitive pub- 
lications ; which so engage the time and attention of our 
people, that they have no leisure, and, in many cases, 
no disposition to read any thing else. Works of solid 
thouglit and substantial merit are disrelished, and thrown 
away as dry and uninteresting ; while a constant, insatiable 
demand is made for what is light and superficial. Let 
every man who would not form the worst mental habits, 
and deprive himself of all real advantage from reading, 
guard most assiduously against this vicious taste. The 
evils of it, both to the heart and the intellect, are incalcu- 
lable. It prevents all deep moral feeling, and all improve- 
ment in useful knowledge. 

These remarks apply in all their force to the reading of 
novels. I will not take it upon me to say, that there is not, 
here and there, a single volume to be found in this class of 

9 



98 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

writings, which it may be safe and profitable to read. But 
where there is one of this character, there are hundreds and 
thousands of a directly opposite tendency ; and to make a 
proper selection in the midst of so much trash and poison, 
is so difficult a matter, especially to young and inexperienced 
persons, that he acts wisest, in my opinion, who inscribes 
upon this whole class of books, touch noty taste noty 
handle not. This is not the place to go into a discussion 
of this subject. Let any man, however, examine it in the 
light of sober reason, and, I am persuaded, he will adopt 
the conclusion, that a very small portion of time should 
suffice for the reading of novels. Many of them are de- 
cidedly bad in their character ; many more are useless and 
insipid ; and even the best of them, I fear, are fraught with 
a mischief which is a full counterbalance to any good 
effects they may produce. I object to novels, not more on 
account of the immoral tendency of many of them, than on 
account of the pernicious effects they produce upon the 
intellect and taste of their readers. A mind, under the 
genuine influence of novel reading, shrinks from every task 
that requires close thought and patient attention. An in- 
superable aversion is created to all serious, solid reading, 
and a taste formed, which, while it rejects truth and reality, 
as dull and uninteresting, can be satisfied with nothing but 
the high-wrought creations of fiction. No habitual reader 
of novels can love the Bible, or love any other book that 
demands thought, or inculcates the serious duties of life. 
He dv/ells in a region of imagination, where he is disgusted 
with the plainness and simplicity of truth ; with the sober 
realities which demand his attention, as an accountable 
subject of God's government. If, then, you would not 
worse than waste your time and talents ; if you would not 
enfeeble your minds and impress on your hearts a light and 
frivolous character, and, by forming false views of life, pre- 
pare yourselves for disappointment and sorrow in the end, 
let the class of writings now under consideration, have but 
a very small portion of your attention. The less (he better. 
No man, certainly, needs to be so burdened with life as to 
squander it away in poring over the dreams of fiction. 
Other and more serious matters demand our attention, and 
from the great number of useful books which abound at the 
present day, it surely cannot be difficult to make a selection 



PLAN OP READING. 99 

that will much more profitably occupy our leisure hours 
than those which call us away from the scenes of real life, 
to dwell in a region of chimeras. 

Few authors can be read with more profit than those 
that illustrate the natural sciences, and show their applica- 
tion to the practical arts of life. Authors of this character 
teach us to read and understand the sublime volume of crea- 
tion. They show us the admirable structure of nature ; 
unfold to our view the beauty, order, and harmony, which 
characterize the works of God ; and while in the study of 
these works, our minds are invigorated, our hearts improved, 
our views enlarged, and the sources of our enjoyment 
multiplied ; we rise to a contemplation of the Great Being 
who created and governs all ; and are thus taught to look 
through nature, up to nature's God. This is the natural 
tendency, and this the actual effect, in every pious mind, 
of studying the works of creation. Who can survey the 
wondrous volume which the Creator has spread out be- 
fore us — who can contemplate the bright impress of his 
perfections as it is seen on the earth beneath ; or read the 
shining lines of glory and of grandeur which are inscribed 
on the heavens above, without exclaiming with the devout 
psalmist, " O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in wis- 
dom hast thou made them all ; the earth is full of thy riches, 
and so is the great and wide sea." 

Not less valuable are those writers that make us ac- 
quainted with our own minds and hearts ; that analyze and 
lay open the secret springs of action ; unfold the principles 
of political and moral science ; illustrate the duties which 
we owe to our fellow-men, to society, and to God ; and, by 
teaching us the nature, dignity, and end of our existence, 
aim to elevate our views and hopes, and lead us to aspire 
after the true glory and happiness of rational and immortal 
beings. 

Our continuance on earth is but for a day. We are ra- 
pidly hastening through its busy scenes ; — the sun of life 
will soon be set; — the darkness of death settle over all that 
here occupies our hearts and hands, and our immortal spi- 
rits pass into that world from whose bourne no traveller re- 
turns. What then is so important to us as a knowledge 
of ourselves, of our relation to God, and a future state, and 
the way in which we may be prepared for the scenes which 



100 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

are so soon to open upon us in another world ? Books 
that help us in the attainment of this knowledge are of in- 
estimable value. They relate to our most important inter- 
ests, and ought therefore to have the first place assigned 
them in a course of reading. 

Especially must this he said of the Bible, This book, 
the *' eldest surviving offspring of the human intellect," the 
chosen companion and friend of patriarchs, prophets, apos- 
tles, and of all the wisest and best men that have overlived ; 
— this book, that reveals to us the character and will of our 
great Creator and final Judge ; that opens before us the way 
of salvation through a Redeemer ; unveils to our view the 
invisible world, and shows us the final destiny of our race ; 
— this book, which God has given expressly to teach us 
our character, our duty and prospects, which has conducted 
to heaven all who have entered that happy world, and must 
conduct us thither if ever we attain to its blessedness ; — 
this book ought surely to be held by us in the highest place 
of honour and respect ; to be made the guide of our youth, 
the companion of our age ; our solace and support in all 
the prosperous and trying passages of life. Considered 
merely as a human composition, the Bible is unquestion- 
ably the most interesting book on earth. One of the great- 
est and best of men, I refer to Sir William Jones, a judge 
of the supreme court of judicature in Bengal, has said of 
the Bible, — " I have carefully and regularly perused the 
Scriptures, and am of opinion that this volume, independ- 
ent of its divine origin, contains more sublimity, purer mo- 
rality, more important history, and finer strains of eloquence, 
than can be collected from all other books, in whatever lan- 
guage they may have been written.^' Embrace this vo- 
lume then, my friends, to your bosom. Let it be a lamp to 
your feet, and a light to your path. With every morn- 
ing dawn and evening shade, repair to the book of God for 
instruction and counsel, and the happy effects of it upon 
your mind and heart, upon your character and life, upon 
your present and eternal happiness, you shall gratefully ac- 
knowledge at the right hand of your Judge, and amidst the 
thanksgivings and praises of tlie heavenly world. 

Were I now to give you one rule for all, for regulating 
your choice of books, it should be this, — " Books are good 
or bad in their tendency, as they make you relish the word 
of God, the more or the less after you have read them." 



PLAN OF READINO. 101 

PART SECOND. 
RULES FOR READING. 

There are many who read a great deal, and yet derive 
very little advantage from what they read. They make an 
injudicious choice of books ; they read without method and 
without object, and often without attention and reflection. 
'' They are delighted with the notions which they read or 
hear, as they would be with stories tliat are told ; but they 
do not weigh them in their minds, as in a just balance, in 
order to determine their truth or falsehood ; they make no 
observations upon them, or inferences from them. Per- 
haps their eyes slide over the pages, or the words slide over 
their ears, and vanish like a rhapsody of evening tales, or 
the shadows of a cloud flying over a green field in a sum- 
mer's day. Or if they review them sufficiently to fix them 
in their remembrance, it is merely with a design to tell the 
tale over again, and show what men of learning they are. 
Thus they dream out their days in a course of reading, 
without real advantage. As a man may be eating all day, 
and for want of digestion receive no nourishment ; so 
these endless readers may cram themselves with intellectual 
food, and without real improvement of their minds, for 
want of digesting it by reflection."* It is of great import- 
ance then, not only that we take heed what we read, but 
how we read. 

1. In the first place, then, read with discrimination. 
The world is full of books ; no small portion of which are 
either worthless, or decidedly hurtful in their tendency. 
And as no man has time to read every thing, he ought to 
make a selection of the ablest and best writers on the sub- 
jects which he wishes to investigate, and dismiss wholly 
from his attention the entire crowd of unworthy and use- 
less ones. There is another reason for this. Bad books 
contain a secret and deadly poison ; and if they are read in- 
discriminately, or without due caution, they are sure to 
corrupt the principles and destroy the soul. The young 
have great need to be guarded on this point. Many a 
youth has been destroyed by reading a single volume. You 

* Watts' Improvement of the Mind, a veiy useful book for young 
persons. 

9* 



102 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ought, my friends, to be as careful what books you read, 
as what company you keep. Both exert a decided influence 
over your habits and character ; and in making choice of 
either, you will, if you are wise, endeavour to obtain and 
follow good advice. 

2. Read with attention. Never take up a book merely 
for amusement, or for the sake of whiling away time. 
Time thus spent is worse than lost. It tends to form a 
habit of desultory, indolent thought, and to incapacitate the 
mind for confining its attention to close and accurate investi- 
gation. 

Always read with your attention fixed ; with your 
thoughts concentrated, and your mind intently engaged on 
the subject you are pursuing. This will enable you to fol- 
low the argument and illustrations of your author ; to com- 
prehend his aim and object ; " to distinguish truth from er- 
ror ; good sentiments from bad, and sound reasonings from 
mere conjectures and bold assertions." While this mode 
of reading will enlarge your views, and increase your stock 
of knowledge, it will also invigorate and strengthen your 
mind, and prepare you for higher and still more successful 
mental efiforts. 

3. Read with reflection. It is a good practice, when 
you take up a volume to read, first to cast your eye over 
the introduction, table of contents, and heads of argument; 
and having thus obtained a general view of your author's 
object, close the book, and inquire with yourself what you 
know on the subjects discussed, and how you would treat 
them if you were to attempt such an exercise. This will 
have a happy effect in forming your mind for original, in- 
dependent thought, and at the same time it will prepare you 
to read the volume with greater interest, discrimination, and 
profit. 

Especially is it important as you proceed, often to pause 
and reflect upon what you have read. Recall the train of 
thought, examine the arguments, inquire as to the object 
and aim of your author ; whether his reasonings are con- 
clusive, his sentiments just, his illustrations pertinent, and 
his spirit good. To read in this manner is indeed labo- 
rious ; and he who pursues it will be able to read but few 
volumes, in comparison with him who skims over every 
book that is thrown in his way. But the amount of know- 
ledge and vigour of mind acquired in this way are an 



PLAN OF READING. 103 

abundant compensation for any deficiency in the number 
of authors read. 

One book read thoroughly, and with careful reflection, 
will do more to improve the mind and enrich the under- 
standing than skimming over the surface of a whole libra- 
ry. Indeed, the more one reads in this hasty, superficial 
manner, the worse. It is like loading the stomach with a 
great quantity of food, which lies there undigested. It en- 
feebles the intellect, and sheds darkness and confusion over 
all the operations of the mind. 

4. Read with confidence. It is often said man does not 
know his weakness. It is quite as true, he does not know 
his strength. Multitudes fail to accomplish what they 
might, because they have not due confidence in their pow- 
ers, and do not know what they are capable of accomplish- 
ing. Hence they yield their understandings to the dictation 
of others, and never think or act for themselves. The only 
use they make of reading, is to remember and repeat the 
sentiments of their author. This is an error. When you 
sit down to the reading of a book, believe that you are able 
to understand the subject on which it treats, and resolve 
that you will understand it. If it calls you to a severe ef- 
fort, so much the better. The mind, like the body, is 
strengthened by exercise ; and the severer the exercise, 
the greater the increase of strength. One hour of thorough, 
close application to study, does more to invigorate and im- 
prove the mind, than a week spent in the ordinary exer- 
cise of its powers. Call no man master. Yield not your 
minds to the passive impressions which others may please 
to make upon them. Hear what they have to say; exa- 
mine it ; weigh it ; and then judge for yourselves. This 
will enable you to make a right use of books, — to use them 
as helpers^ not as guides to your understanding , as coun- 
sellors^ not as dictators of what you are to think and be- 
lieve. 

5. At the same time read with humility and candour. 
We know so little in comparison with what is to be known, 
that we have always much more reason to be humbled by 
our ignorance, than puffed up by our knowledge. Real 
science is ever humble and docile ; but pedantry is proud 
and self-conceited. Men of deep research and extensive 
knowledge are much more apt to be candid and teachable, 
than your mere smatterers in knowledge. Persons who 



1Q4 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

read much and think little, are greatly exposed to be puffed 
up with pride and self-conceit, because they estimate their 
knowledge more by the number of books they have read, 
than by the clear and well-defined ideas they have collected 
from them. Hence the poet's advice is both true and im- 
portant. 

A little learning is a dangerous thing : 
Drink deep or taste not the Pierean spring : 
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, 
And drinking largely sobers us again. 

He who would read profitably must read with an hum- 
ble and teachable mind, and be ready to embrace truth, 
wherever it is found, or by whomsoever it is taught, whe- 
ther by friend or foe. It is the mark of a shallow, preju- 
diced mind, to reject every thing as false because it does 
not agree with its own prepossessions, and to embrace every 
thing because it does. 

Seize upon truth where'er 'tis found, 
Amongst your friends, amongst your foes, 
On Christian or on heathen ground ; 
The flower's divine where'er it grows ; 
Neglect the prickle and assume the rose. 

6. It is a happy method to improve by reading, when 
several persons unite in reading the same book, or on the 
same subject, and meet occasionally to interchange their 
thoughts, and compare their opinions respecting the authors 
they have been studying. The effect of this is to produce 
a thorough knowledge of the books you read ; to impress 
the instruction derived from them more deeply on your 
mind ; to give clearness and precision to your thoughts ; to 
improve the talent of conversation, and form you to a habit 
of readily communicating your ideas when called to take a 
part in any subject of inquiry or debate. 

7. Read for improvement^ and not for shoiv, — Recol- 
lect that the great object of reading is not to be able to tell 
what others have thought and said ; but to improve your 
minds in useful knowledge, establish your hearts in virtue, 
and prepare yourselves for a right performance of the duties 
of life, and for a joyful acceptance with God on the great 
day of account. This is the grand object we should al- 
ways keep in view in all our endeavours to acquire know- 



PLAN OF READING. 105 

ledge, whether by books or other means of improvement. 
It is the object for which we were made ; and no reading", 
no study, no pursuits of life are to be accounted right and 
useful any further than they tend to assist us in the attain- 
ment of this great end of our being. If we felt this as we 
ought, it would be to us instead of all other rules on the 
subject before us. It would lead us to a proper choice of 
books, to a profitable manner of reading them, to a right 
use of our knowledge, and in all our endeavours to improve 
our minds, to imitate the example set us by the wisest of 
men, — to seek from God a wise and understanding heart, 
that all our attainments might thus be laid at the foot of the 
cross, and consecrated to the service of him who died for 
us and rose a^ain. 



PART THIRD. 

NOVEL READING. 

It is certain that Christianity must look with disappro- 
bation upon much that passes in the world under the name 
of fiction. The drama deals in fiction, and in incidents 
embellished by the imagination. But the novel and ro- 
mance are less injurious, not because the imagination is not 
put into equal exercise, but purely from adventitious cir- 
cumstances. The object of the novelist is to throw over 
life deceitful colours — to heighten enjoyments which the 
world possesses not — to absorb the attention in the destinies 
of imaginary characters — to give alluring traits to men of 
suspicious principles — to paint the respective qualities of 
heroes and heroines, and develope a train of incidents 
founded in falsehood. Old age, that ought to be gathering 
additional tranquillity for its last earthly hour, is warmed 
into a remembrance, though not a penitent remembrance, 
of youthful follies. The thoughtless and inexperienced are 
pushed on into romantic extravagance. The holy Sabbath 
and the midnight hour are frequently devoted to the pe- 
rusal, and of course to the composition of novels. The 
bell that calls thousands to places of worship, where the 
wellsprings of life are opened, has not power to charm 
away those who are engrossed with a tale of imaginary 
distress. The positive duties, and the diversified relations 



106 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

of life, are undervalued. High mental accomplishments 
are cheerfully sacrificed to the impulse of a feverish cu- 
riosity, that aspires to nothing loftier than to know the 
winding up of scenes that a restive fancy has created. 

But with regard to the numerous productions of this class, 
which are current in the world, there is little disagreement 
in opinion. Their warmest admirers admit their injurious 
tendency. There are some, however, whose incidents and 
characters are chiefly historical, that call for more serious 
consideration. We approach again a distinguished writer 
in this field of the imagination, which he has cultivated 
with assiduous care. It is hard, indeed, to read these com- 
positions, be charmed with them, and then not speak of 
them affectionately. When we consider, too, that the 
labours of this writer have been highly useful in stopping 
the voluptuous demand for commonplace fictions, by the 
marked superiority of his own, we feel no common respect 
for talents so exalted, a genius so fruitful in resources, for 
descriptive powers so unrivalled. It would be no daring 
achievement to hunt down the soft sentimentalism of our 
every-day writers, but when we wind our feeble horn 
amidst some distant forest, say the forest of Ettrick, we 
feel the antiquity of its shades, the novelty of the scene, 
and a conscious ignorance whither to direct our steps. But 
the standard of religion laid down by this writer, is a 
standard always false or insuflnicient. Born in a country 
blessed with the light of the reformation, nurtured amidst 
ecclesiastical connexions which have been a signal blessing 
to Scotland, which have crowned her mountains with 
churches and filled her vales with faithful pastors, we 
should have expected from him a more accurate discrimi- 
nation between truth and error. 

He has thrown around a Jewess the charm of inflexible 
constancy in a false system of religion — false, as rejecting 
Christianity, but, in connexion with it, a glorious system 
of truth. He has chilled every moral feeling in his de- 
scription of the reformed preachers. He has rent the Scrip- 
tures to pieces, and scattered them far and wide over the 
pages of romance. He has taken the name of the Lord his 
God in vain, and the Lord will not hold him guiltless. He 
has attempted to portray piety, but it is a piety weak, 
credulous, and ridiculous. He has left on the mind of his 
reader an improper view of the rigour of Knox, to whom 



PLAN OF READING. 107 

Scotland is more indebted than to all her regal line. He 
has almost placed the ruins of abbeys and monasteries in a 
scale against the blessings of the reformation. As well 
might we take up a lamentation over the destruction of 
feudal castles, when the liberties of thousands have been 
established on their ruins, or over Indian fortifications in 
our own country, when millions are spreading themselves 
over the face of our happy land, rich in the blessings of 
freedom, literature, and religion. 



A LETTER ON NOVEL READING, FROM REV. HEMAN 
HUMPHREY, D.D. 

But what do you think of novels and other kindred works 
of fiction, where the language is chaste, the sentiments un- 
exceptionable, and the moral good ? Shall they be brought 
into the domestic circle, or excluded from it ? A full an- 
swer to this question would require much more time than 
I can at present devote to it. Absolutely to proscribe all 
fiction, would, perhaps, be going too far. I think I could 
select a dozen volumes, besides Robinson Crusoe, which I 
should be willing to have my children read in their minor- 
ity. But nothing is more to be deprecated, in a family, 
than a morbid appetite for novels ; and all experience proves, 
how difficult it is to keep it from becoming absolutely ra- 
venous, if it is indulged at all. Reading one work of fic- 
tion is almost certain to create in the young and susceptible 
mind a more eager demand for another ; and the demand 
rises at every step of the progress, till it is prepared to 
break over all bounds, and to devour whatever comes in its 
way, however it may inflame the passions, pollute the ima- 
gination, or corrupt the heart. There is a striking resem- 
blance, in this respect, between the novel reader and the 
dram drinker. Both are sure that a little does them good, 
and that they can refrain whenever they please. The ap- 
petite of both is sharpened by indulgence till they lose all 
self-control, and are completely at the mercy of its insatia- 
bleness. As the drunkard will contrive to get the means of 
intoxication in spite of every friendly remonstrance and 
precaution, so the young and prurient novel reader, will beg 
or borrow clandestinely, when the books cannot otherwise 
be obtained. The only perfectly safe course, in either case 



108 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

is, " touch not, taste not, handle not." One grand objec- 
tion against putting popular works of fiction into the hands 
of our youth of both sexes is, that the world of romance, 
differs so entirely from the rough, stormy, and matter-of-fact 
world in which they are to live and be happy, i^ they can ; 
and certainly to suffer, whatever pains they may take to 
shun it. Suppose your blooming daughter, of fifteen, could 
be transported into some paradise of perpetual spring and 
spicy breezes — of odoriferous flowers, and feathered har- 
mony, and gushing marble fountains, and banyan shades, 
and everlasting sunshine — what kind of preparation would 
she be making, in such bowers of unmingled delights, for 
returning, at the end of five or ten years, to spend her life 
in this cold region where she was born, upon which the 
curse of God has so heavily fallen ? But far worse than 
this must it be for her to dwell for the same number of 
years in the fairy lands of romance, and then come down 
to the dull, husky prose and discordant elements — the thou- 
sand inconveniences, and cares, and toils, and disappoint- 
ments of real life. When the novelist can plant, and water, 
and illuminate some terrestrial paradise ; and shut out pain, 
and sorrow, and sin ; and give our children a life lease of it, it 
will be time enough to introduce them to his acquaintance ; 
but, till then, the less they have to do with this class of 
writers the better. 

I proceed next to offer a few thoughts upon the religious 
fiction of the day. Is it a safe and profitable kind of read- 
ing ? Who does not know that books of this class have 
been greatly multiplied within the last five-and-twenty 
years : and it is easily accounted for. The number of re- 
ligious families in our country has very much increased ; 
and this hath proportionally increased the demand for reli- 
gious reading. Popular writers, always awake to the fluc- 
tuations of public taste, have met the demand, by mingling 
fictitious amusement, for the younger branches of such fami- 
lies, with religious phraseology and religious instruction. 
Of these writers, there are two classes ; those that give a 
religious cast to their books, to make them sell, and those 
truly pious authors, whose aim it is, by the aid of interest- 
ing fiction, to allure their young readers to the love and 
practice of religion. 

The first of these classes commonly make extremely 
awkward work of it. Having no religion themselves, and 



PLAN OF READING. 109 

never having read the Bible with any serious attention, they 
know not what to do with it. A certain number of theo- 
logical terms and phrases must be introduced into every 
chapter; but where to bring them in, they seem to be about 
as much at a loss, as a good man would be, when to swear, 
and when to let it alone. Hence their religious novels, 
written for the special edification of our children, because 
we object to the oldfashioned class of romances, often pre- 
sent such grotesque specimens of patch-work, as are rarely 
to be met with in any other writings. '* The apples of gold" 
are set in any thing but " pictures of silver." The quota- 
tions from Scripture are hardly ever apposite ; and often, 
when they think they have rounded oflfa period most piously, 
it is difficult to acquit them of taking the name of God in vain. 
Whenever they lug in the doctrines of the Bible, the views 
which they present are sure to be extremely crude, if not 
palpably and grossly erroneous. Let parents, then, beware 
of this whole class of misnamed religious novels. They 
are more dangerous in a rising family than almost any 
others. 

The second class, I mean those that are written by pious 
authors, and are both theologically and evangelically cor- 
rect, it is not so easy to dispose of. I should not dare to 
say that they have done no good ; and were it possible, in 
practice, to draw the line between them and the least ex- 
ceptionable of the first class, and at the same time to pre- 
vent their being too much multiplied, I should hail them as 
valuable auxiliaries in Christian education. But here lies 
the grand difficulty. If you put fiction, which is really 
religious, into the hands of your children, they will be ex- 
tremely apt to extend their reading to that which is so only 
in name, and to prefer it as more congenial to the native 
depravity of the human heart. " What book is that, my 
son, which you are reading with so much interest to-day ?" 
*' It is a religious novel." You look at the title and shake 
your head. " Where did you borrow it? I had rather 
you would not read it, especially on the Sabbath." *'But, 
father, it is certainly a religious book, for it is just like my 
last New Year's present, which you said was written by 
one of the most pious ladies in England." Now you may 
see a heaven-wide difference between the two, but your 
child does not; and though you may persuade or command 
him to break off in the midst of a story, he will be exceed- 

10 



110 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ingly apt to take it up again as soon as your back is turned. 
Our unconverted children will not discriminate. We can- 
not expect it. And if we countenance religious novel read- 
ing at all, the danger is, that the more tares and chaff there 
are in the wheat, the better they will like it. 

And even if there was no false theology mingled with 
fiction, the question would arise in the mind of every pious 
and intelligent parent, how far he ought to encourage such 
reading in his family. If it be found by experience that 
it is the well-told story and nothing else, which rivets the 
altention of the child — ^that the Jiction of the book is all in 
all with him, and the religion goes for nothing ; or if while 
his appetite is sharpened for this kind of aliment he has less 
and less relish for the Bible and for all other religious read- 
ing which does not come recommended by the charms of 
fictitious narrative, then the query may well arise, whether 
it is not a duty to exclude this latter class of books alto- 
gether? Even gold may be bought too dear, especially 
where there is a very large portion of alloy. It is not 
enough for a Christian father to be satisfied that the books 
which he is advised to put into the hands of his children 
are of a decidedly moral and religious tendency. He is 
bound to ask another question ; " Will they, upon the whole, 
do more harm than good, by creating and pampering a vi- 
cious taste for highly-seasoned condiments ? Will they 
displace the Bible and usurp the place of all other solid re- 
ligious reading ?" 

For my own part, I have come gradually and I may say 
reluctantly to the conclusion, that most of the religious 
leading in our families is unprofitable, if not in the lonsf 
run absolutely injurious to our children. It is not calculated 
to make them thinking, intelligent, and full-grown Chris- 
tians, but to keep them always in a sort of excitable, dwarf- 
ish, and fitful minority. In this remark I include the thou- 
sand religious story books designed for the nursery, with 
which the land is flooded, as well as fictitious works of higher 
pretensions. I hope the reader will not misunderstand me : 
I do not object altogether to religious story books, infant 
biography and the like. Not a few of these little 18 and 
24:mos are very instructive, as well as interesting. But we 
have too many of them — -altogether too many in our nurse- 
ries, in our children's closets, and in our Sabbath-school 
libraries. Our babes have too much milk and they are kept 



PLAN OF READING. Ill 

too lon^ upon it. They ought to have more meat. Cer- 
tain it is, that from some cause or other, young Christians 
of full stature and intellectual maturity, do not now take up 
solid practical and doctrinal religious reading, with any thing 
like that zest which young disciples of their age did, one 
tliird of a century ago ; and I ascribe the difference mainly 
lo the multiplication of books of that class whicli I have 
just mentioned. It is so delightful to run over volume after 
volume, borne on by the mere current o^feelirig, that think- 
ing becomes irksome ; and when our sons and daughters 
should be reading Howe, and Baxter, and Witherspoon, 
and Dwight, and Robert Hall, and Jonathan Edwards, they 
are still poring over the last religious annual or story book. 
And what confirms me still more in the opinion which I 
liave ventured to express, respecting the Lilliputian tend- 
ency of light and fictitious religious reading is, that even 
many fathers and mothers in our Israel, who were brought 
up on the substantial aliment of the old Puritans, are now 
regaling themselves with the condiments of the nursery, 
instead of adhering to the meat which they were once so 
fond of, and in the strength of it, " going on unto perfec- 
tion." Of those, also, who still retain their fondness for 
the old standard religious authors, how many now prefer 
the most summary abridgments and compends, to the thick 
quarto and heavy octavos, which they used to sit and pon- 
der over, hour after hour, upon the Sabbath, and by the 
quiet evening fireside. 



P4RT FOURTH. 

A LETTER FROM THE HON. JOHN QUINCY ADAMS, 
EX-PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. ^ 

Washington, 22d June, 1838. 

Gentlemen : — I have no words to express my gratitude 
for the kind feeling and more than friendly estimate of my 
character contained in your letter of the 9th inst., and am 
not less at a loss for language to utter the humiliation of a 
deep conviction how little your panegyric has been deserved. 

Were it even so far deserved that I could feel myself 
qualified to give you the advice which you desire, it would 



112 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

afford me the most heartfelt pleasure to give it; but situated 
in life as you represent yourselves to be, I could scarcely 
name any list of books, or of authors, which I could recom- 
mend as equally worthy of attention to you all. The firii, 
and almost the only book deserving such universal recom- 
mendation, is the Bible — and in recommending that, I fear 
that some of you will think I am performing a superfluous, 
and others, a very unnecessary office — yet such is my de- 
liberate opinion. The Bible is the book of all others to be 
read at all ages and in all conditions of human life ; not to 
be read once or twice or thrice through, and then to be laid 
aside ; but to be read in small portions of one or two chap- 
ters every day, and never to be intermitted, unless by some 
overruling necessity. 

This attentive and repeated reading of the Bible in small 
portions every day, leads the mind to habitual meditation 
upon subjects of the highest interest to the welfare of the 
individual in this world, as well as to prepare him for that 
hereafter to which we are all destined. It furnishes rules 
of conduct for our own conduct towards others in our social 
relation. In the commandments delivered from Sinai, in 
the inimitable sublimity of the Psalms and of the prophets, 
in the profound and concentrated observations upon human 
life and manners imbodied in the Proverbs of Solomon, in 
the philosophical allegory so beautifully set forth in the 
narrative of facts, whether real or imaginary, of the Book 
of Job, an active mind cannot peruse a single chapter and 
lay the book aside to think, and take it up again to-morrow, 
without finding in it advice for our own conduct, which we 
may turn to useful account, in the progress of our daily 
pilgrimage upon earth — and when we pass from the Old 
Testament to the New, we meet at once a system of uni- 
versal morality founded upon one precept of universal ap- 
plication, pointing us to peace and good- will towards the 
whole race of man for this life, and to peace with God and 
an ever-blessed existence hereafter. 

My friends, if all or any of you have spiritual pastors to 
guide you in the paths of salvation, do not imagine that I 
am encroaching upon the field of their appropriate ser- 
vices ; — I speak as a man of the world to men of the world ; 
and I say to you, search the Scriptures ! If ever you tire 
of them in seeking for a rule of faith and a standard of 
morals, search them as records of history. General and 



PLAN OP READING. 113 

compendious history is one of the fountains of human know- 
ledge to wliich you should all resort with steady and per- 
severing pursuit. The Bible contains the only authentic 
introduction to the history of the world ; and in storing 
your minds with the facts of this history, you will imme- 
diately perceive the need of assistance from geography and 
chronology. These assistances you may find in many of 
the Bibles published with commentaries, and you can have 
no difficulty in procuring them. Acquaint yourselves with 
the chronology and geography of the Bible — that will lead 
you to a general knowledge of chronology and of geography, 
ancient and modern, and these will open to you an inex- 
haustible fountain of knowledge, respecting the globe which 
you inhabit, and respecting the race of man, its inhabitant, 
to which you yourselves belong. You may pursue these 
inquiries just so far as your time and inclination will per- 
mit. Give one hour of mental application ; for you must 
not read without thinking, or you will read to little pur- 
pose — give an hour of joint reading and thought to the 
chronology, and one to the geography of the Bible, and if 
it introduces you to too hard a study, stop there. Even 
for these two hours, you will ever after read the Bible, and 
any other history, with more fruit, more intelligence, 
more satisfaction. But if those two hours excite your 
curiosity, and tempt you to devote part of an hour every 
day for a year or years, to study thoroughly the chronology 
and geography of the Bible, it will not only lead you far 
deeper than you will otherwise ever penetrate into the 
knowledge of the book, but it will spread floods of light 
upon every step you shall ever afterwards take in acquiring 
the knowledge of profane history, and upon the local habi- 
tation of every tribe of man, and upon the name of every 
nation into which the children of Adam have been divided. 

There are many other subsidiary studies, to which you 
may devote more or less of time, for the express purpose 
of making your Bible reading more intelligible to your- 
selves. It is a book which neither the most ignorant and 
weakest, nor the most learned and intelligent mind can 
read without improvement. 

There are other books of great worth and of easy acquisi- 
tion, which I suppose will be accessible to you all. The 
Libraries of Useful and of Entertaining Knowledge — the 
Family Library, the Monthly and Quarterly Reviews, and 

10=^ 



114 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Magazines, which are in a continual succession of publica- 
tion in this country as well as in England, will furnish you a 
constant supply of profitable reading : for the selection of 
which, time, inclination, and opportunity will be your wisest 
counsellors. As citizens of a free country, taking an interest 
in its public concerns, I am sure I need not remind you, 
how strong your impulse should be to seek an intimate 
knowledge of the history of America, from the voyage of 
Columbus, and even of his supposed predecessors. Prince 
Madoc of Wales and the Northmen, down to the Olym- 
piads of Andrew Jackson and Martin Van Buren. The 
American Hemisphere — the continent of North America — 
the United States of America before and since the acquisi- 
tion of Louisiana, and every separate state of this Union, 
is a series of historical problems of which you should sy- 
stematically seek the solution. Read the Constitution of 
the United States — the Commentary of the Federalists — the 
Constitution and History of your own State — ^biographies, 
beginning with Langhorne's Plutarch, and thence proceeding 
to the history of John Smith ; to the American biographies 
of Belknap and Sparks ; to Washington Irving's Life of 
Columbus ; and to the articles of Penn, and Calvert, and 
Locke, and Oglethorpe, which will lead you on to others, 
in the Encyclopaedia Americana or Conversations Lexicon. 
Then the fashionable novels and poetry of the present 
times : Scott, Byron, Moore, Rogers, Coleridge, Southey, 
Wordsworth, two Montgomerys, Cooper, Paulding, Willis, 
Mrs. Hemans and Lady Blessington, Mrs. Sigourney and 
Miss Gould, and, worth them all. Miss Edge worth ; and, 
lastly, the reports of your countrymen, travellers in fo- 
reign lands — Dr. Dwight, Dr. Sprague, Mr. Bigelow, 
Lieut. Slidell, and Dr. Fisk ; with many others whose 
names do not at this moment occur to me. — But I have 
given you more than enough, and, after all, hardly know 
whether the catalogue will meet your inquiries, or satisfy 
your expectations. After all, I must conclude with the 

advice of the serving man to the young student of — 

in Shakspeare *' Study what you most affect." 

I remain your friend and fellow-student for life, 

J. Q. Adams. 



No. V. 

MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE COMBINED, THE 
ONLY TRUE BASIS OF EDUCATION. 

BY MARCUS E. CROSS. 



PART FIRST. 

It must be admitted that the legitimate tendency of sound 
knowledge is in unison with the promotion of good morals. 
The illumined understanding gives light to the conscience. 
The genius, once fired by the contemplation of man's du- 
ties and powers, and of his Maker's wisdom, will warm 
and invigorate the affections and the heart. The difficulties 
and doubts that overcloud our best knowledge, show us our 
weakness, and teach us humility. Still, the precious gift 
of knowledge is liable to a wicked perversion ; and the 
greatness of the evils that may arise from such perversion, 
is commensurate with the unspeakable value of the bless- 
ing. Mathematical and physical science may assist in pre- 
paring and brandishing the weapons of sophistry and skep- 
ticism, wherewith to wither the dearest hopes and consola- 
tions of man. The imagination and fancy, cultivated by 
taste, and enriched with the gems of various learning, may 
impart vigour and keenness to the vilest lusts ; so that like 
the foul sorceress, described by Milton as keeping hell's 
adamantine gates, while it rears its goodly front towards the 
skies, beaming with seductive beauty, it at the same time 
winds its poisonous length in many a scaly fold, far along 
upon the earth ; 



. a serpent armed 



With mortal sting."* 

While we admit the soundness of the maxim, *' Know- 
ledge is power," for producing beneficial results, we at the 

• Paradise Lost, book ii. line 652. 

115 



116 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

same time affirm, that it is also power for evil, as well as 
for good, and when entirely disconnected with the regulat- 
ing influence of moral principle, it is a most dangerous en- 
gine. And we think we are not mistaken when we say, 
that the great error of some highly distinguished and be- 
nevolent men of the age, is to lose sight of the necessity 
of a close bond of union between moral and mental cul- 
ture. They seem to take it for granted that men are as 
much inclined to good as to evil ; and that if the stream of 
knowledge only flows broad and deep through the land, 
it will, as it runs, work out every moral and political evil. 



and as it rims refine, 



Till by degrees the floating mirror shine ; 
Reflect the flowers that on its border grow, 
And heaven's own light in its fair bosom show." 

One of the distinguished advocates of the efficacy of 
simple knowledge is Henry Brougham, who stands as a 
legal advocate at the head of the English bar. Pre-emi- 
nent as a man of science, a literary man, a statesman, law- 
yer, and orator, he is the leader of a party in the English 
Parliament, which imbodies the strength and sinew of the 
enlightened and patriotic in England, the hope and confi- 
dence of the world. We award cheerfully to him and to 
his party the meed of distinguished philanthropy and pa- 
triotism. But in his published articles on practical educa- 
tion, he evinces his sole reliance for the security of the 
government, on the general diffusion of knowledge. And 
it is because sentiments like his find a response in great 
numbers, who are engaged with commendable zeal in the 
cause of education, that we are induced to undertake to ex- 
pose this fundamental and fatal error in education ; and 
without abating an iota from the importance of knowledge, 
to show the necessity of combining moral and religious 
with intellectual culture, if we would secure the happiest 
results in education. 

The sentiments of Mr. Brougham, as expressed in the 
Edinburgh Review, are stated in the following paragraph : 

*' Unshackle the press, multiply the means of knowledge, 
and pour the stream of science and political information 
through the land, and the country is safe. Give but the 
means of information to the people, and they will approve 
and maintain ihe right." 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 117 

Such sentiments, without the least recognition of the 
only moral antidote of sufficient moral power to correct the 
evil tendencies, and the deep and wayward perversities of 
human character ; a system of education, entirely destitute 
of any corrective for the maladies of the human heart, we 
conceive to be an error of fearful magnitude, and one of the 
ominous features of the age. 

In order to show that mere knowledge, unaccompanied 
by correct moral influence, can never prove the conserva- 
tive principle of society ; let us deduce in the first place 
some arguments from history, and, secondly, contemplate 
the light which reason throws upon this subject. 

I. Few countries have ever been more distinguished for 
knowledge than Greece. A brighter period scarcely ever 
relieved the dark pages of history in the annals of the hu- 
man mind. Grecian literature and Grecian art need no eu- 
logist. Their praises are inscribed on the monuments they 
reared, more enduring than brass. By the united suffrages 
of the world, her orators, poets, and artists have become 
the standard oracles of classic beauty. Nor let it be said, 
that it was only the choice few who were instructed ; for 
the populace, the mass of the people, were learned. They 
repaired to the groves of Academus, to hang with delight 
on the lips of their revered instructer, Plato. They drank 
at the fountains of Castalia, and they ascended the verdant 
mountains of Parnassus. The facts of their history, the 
achievements of their heroes, the glories of their ancestors, 
were all treasured up in their memories in the enduring 
forms of eloquence and poetry. The poems of Homer, 
and Euripides, and Pindar were inscribed on the living 
tablets of Grecian mind. Yet, with all her knowledge, 
the glorious light of Greece was long since extinct, and 
tyratits have ruled her with an iron despotism, Greece, 
the land of intellect, and genius, and thought, and learning, 
lives only in the memory of the past. Where is her splen- 
dour, her glory, her mighty fleets and invincible armies ? 
where her spirit-stirring orators ? her victorious generals ? 
Where shall we find her Demosthenes, her Cimon, and 
Epaminondas ? Alas ! all these are gone. Her glory has 
departed. From the highest pinnacle of her glory she has 
fallen, and we date her decline from the era of her brightest 
intellectual development. The age of Pericles is at once 
her highest glory and her deepest disgrace. ^AU her know- 



118 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ledge and refinement, her science, art, genius, taste, intelli- 
gence, could not save her. The fruit of the tree of know- 
ledge was too stimulating. She had no element of sufficient 
moral power to control and guide the excited energies of 
her awakened intellect. She needed the fruit of the tree of 
life, mixed with the tree of knowledge. 

Let us now turn our attention for a moment to an ex- 
ample in modern times ; I allude to France during the last 
century. The brightest era in the history of the French mind 
commenced with the reign of Louis XVL A race of learned 
men and philosophers then arose, who, for native talent, 
genius, and metaphysical subtility, will challenge compari- 
son with those of any other age or nation. Ceres, in the 
fable, who lighted her torch at the fires of iEtna, and 
mounted her chariot draNvn by dragons, never pursued her 
daughter Proserpine with greater keenness of inquiry than 
did these philosophers the ideal of perfection in knowledge. 
They were literally worshippers of Minerva, the goddess 
of ivisdom. Their aim was to advance science for its own 
sake, and to diffuse knowledge universally among the peo- 
ple. They aimed to send forth gushing streams of know- 
ledge from the wells at which they themselves had drank, 
over the whole face of society. Their conception was 
magnificent: their vision glorious. In the selection of 
their means, they evinced consummate wisdom. Multi- 
tudes of powerful minds devoted their attention to the com- 
position of books, treatises, essays and tracts, to circulate 
in the community. All France became one great school 
of philosophy. The broad and deep ocean of mind was 
moved. For a while, the philosophers rode proudly like 
Tritons, the retinue of Neptune, amid the waves they had 
excited. But they had forgotten to provide the only trident 
of sufficient power, which could allay the storm and waves 
they had excited. When they cut loose from all the re- 
straints of conscience and moral obligation, and religion ; 
when they had declared death an eternal sleep, abrogated 
the Sabbath, denied the distinction between right and wrong, 
and declared the goddess Reason whom they had crowned 
and placed upon the throne, the only divinity,* they found 

* Consecrat/'on nf the Goddess Reason, — Surrounded by the crowd 
was a young woman, (Madams Desmoulines) of the finest figure ar- 
rayed in the robes of Liberty, and seated in a chair ornamented with 
leaves and festoons. She was placed opposite the president ; and Chau- 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 119 

the spirits they had raised would not down at their bidding. 
They had put the two-edged sword of knowledge into the 
hands of maniacs, from whose minds was obliterated every 
sentiment of virtue, every idea of accountability to a Su- 
preme Being. Wliy then, we may demand, was it thus ? 
Why was refined, philosophic Paris, converted as it were 
into a den of assassins ? Why were her streets crowded 
with scaffolds raining blood on the gloomy processions of 
death passing beneath them ? Why her government shaken 
to its very centre, and even reduced to its original elements ? 
It was not on account of ignorance. It was not an unread- 
ing, unthinking populace, that perpetrated horrors that might 
make the sun in heaven hide his head, and that made every 
man tremble at the touch of his fellow, lest the next mo- 
ment a dagger should be plunged into his bosom. No, no ! 
It w^as the intelligent, clear-headed infidels, who excited 
these commotions, and perpetrated these tragic deeds. It 

mette one of the members said, Fanaticism has abandoned the place of 
truth. Squint-eyed it could not bear the brilliant light. The peo- 
ple of Paris have taken possession of the temple which they have re- 
generated ; the Gothic arches which till this day resounded with lies, 
now echo with the accents of truth ; you see we have not taken for our 
festivals inanimate idols, it is a chef d'ceuvre of nature whom we have 
arrayed in the habit of Liberty ; its sacred form has inflamed all hearts. 
The public has but one cry, " No more altars, no more priests, no other 
God but nature.'* The goddess then seated herself beside the president, 
who gave her a fraternal kiss. The secretaries presented themselves to 
share the same favour. Every one was eager to kiss the new divinity, 
whom so many solicitations did not in the least disconcert. During the 
ceremony, the orphans of the country, (pupils of Bourdon, one of the 
members,) sang a hymn to Reason in her new temple. A grand festival 
was accordingly held in the church of Notre Dame in honour of this 
deity. In the middle of the church was erected a mount, and on it a 
very plain temple, the facade of which bore the following inscription — 
" a la Philosophic." The torch of truth was in the summit of the 
mount upon the altar of Reason, spreading light. Two rows of young 
girls dressed in white, each wearing a crown of oak leaves, crossed be- 
fore the altar of reason at the sound of republican music; each of the 
girls inclined before the torch, and ascended the summit of the mount, 
liberty then came out of the temple of philosophy towards a throne made 
of turf, to receive the homage of the republicans of both sexes, who sang 
a hymn in her praise, extending their arms at the same time towards her. 
Liberty ascended afterwards to return to the temple, and in re-entering 
it, she turned about, casting a look of benevolence upon her friends : 
when she got in, every one expressed with enthusiasm the sensations 
which the goddess excited in them, by songs of joy ; and they swore 
never, never to cease to be faitliful to her. 



120 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

was tinbaptized science, under no moral restraints, and 
only subjected to the appliances of atheism and infidelity y 
that caused those guillotines to be erected — those daggers 
to be drawn, and those torrents of blood to floio. They 
had severed the bond of union between moral and intellect- 
ual culture, the only bond that can give stability to charac- 
ter. The Bible, and its redeeming influence, was divorced 
from tlie French mind. The idea of any divine infiiience 
on tlie lieart, or in fact, the necessity of any, was scouted 
from the land as a dream of enthusiasts. They were act- 
ing on a false and fatal principle in education. They were 
leaving the highest element of man's nature untouched, un- 
provided for, uneducated. 

Such being their system of education, the results of the 
French Revolution are not surprising; but, on the contrary, 
are the legitimate effects of the system. The man wlio be- 
lieves there is no God to whom he is accountable, — no fu- 
ture state in which he is to exist, no relationship subsisting 
between himself and any other being, that involves obli- 
gation ; has the strongest motives that can be imagined, to 
yield himself up to the most unbridled licentiousness ; and 
his strength and vigour of mind only urge him on with a 
power proportioned to the greatness of his mental resources. 
Having nothing to hope for on the one hand and profess- 
edly y<eari?2g nothing on the other; — at any rate believing 
that the condition of the future is to be in no way influ- 
enced by the doings of the present ; w^hat is there to keep 
him from coming under the complete dominion of his 
animal nature, and yielding to the promptings of every 
passion that would bring him down to a level with the 
brutes ? 



PART SECOND. 

What now is the nature of the light which reason throws 
upon this subject? 

All sound philosophy recognises a threefold distinction 
in human nature ; the physical, the intellectual, and the 
moraL Education, properly so called, consists in the 
development and exercise of all these parts of the man, 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. - 121 

in their due proportions and degrees. It includes all those 
influences and disciplines by which his faculties are un- 
folded and perfected. The right kind of education is a 
symmetrical education. Where some of the powers are 
cultivated to the neglect of the others, the result is inteHec- 
tual disproporlion, and the proper balance of the mind is 
destroyed. Education., then, is that agency, which takes 
the helpless pleading infant from the hands of its Creator; 
and apprehending its entire nature, fully appreciating the 
threefold distinction which we have noticed, tempts it 
forth, — by kindly influences seeks to draw forth all its 
powers, and to build up an efficient character. We shall 
not stop here to adduce any arguments in favour of a proper 
discipline and exercise of the physiccd powers ; because all 
are agreed on its importance. AH agree in the importance 
of the maxim, '*mens sana in sano corpore." We shall pro- 
ceed to show, that the best way to cultivate the intellectual 
powers is to preserve an indissoluble connexion between 
intellectual 3.ud moral culture. The way to realize blessed 
results in education, to perpetuate the morals of the land, 
and to make useful citizens, is to begin with the first dawn- 
ings of intelligence, to watch with as sleepless vigilance 
as did the Grecians the Delphic oracle, the moral powers. 
Reason demands that all the powers of the mind should 
receive 2iiieniion proportionately to their dignity and worth. 
What is the grand distinction between a man and a brute ? 
It is the moral, spiritual, and immortal nature. The mo- 
ral faculty, the conscience, the reason, are the prerogatives 
of man; Heaven's seal on his dignity; the patent of his 
nobility ; the image of his Maker, wherewith he was 
stamped and sealed as the heir of immortality. Man was 
first created in the true image of Jehovah, — next in rank 
and degree to the angelic multitude that cast their crowns 
before the effulgent throne of the Eternal. His moral sense 
w^as then pure and uncontaminated by any evil influence. 
His disposition then prompted him to discharge his duties 
from an internal relish of the laws o^ divine order. He 
shunned evil because his eyes were opened to the inex- 
pressible beauty and loveliness of truth; and did good, 
because it tvas good, and congenial with the best and purest 
dictates of his nature. 

But man, in relation to his moral powers, is not now 
what he was in his pristine dignity. A change has come 
II 



122 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

over his character. Sin has defiled his heart and perverted 
his moral powers. The gold has become dim. Tiie crown 
of his primeval dignity has fallen. This moral being is in 
ruins. Self-love now reigns supreme in his heart, the prin- 
ciple that bears the deadly fruit of hatred towards God and 
man, with its train of evil passions, destructive of social 
order. And yet the soul, polluted as it is, and the moral 
i'dculij, perverted as it is, still remains, a jewel of unspeak- 
able value, though it is now encrusted only with sin. 

Now what should we naturally suppose would be the 
effect of directing exclusive attention to the mind, to make 
use of every appliance to excite its vigour and expand its 
power, without applying any corrective process to the 
heart and moral powers ? The inevitable consequence 
would be an increasing power to do evil, with a disposition 
more and more alienated against all that is good. Every 
passion would be stimulated, every evil propensity quick- 
ened, — the character would be likely to assume the darkest 
shades of selfishness. The fires of genius would be 
kindled only to destroy. Ingenuity would become but the 
wily craft of the serpent. The merely intellectual man, 
whose moral nature is dormant or dead, is a monster, and 
not a man. He has no sympathies with humanity; no sen- 
timent of virtue inhabits his breast ; no music of tender 
affections touches his soul. Burke, a profound master of 
the human mind, has said, with his usual felicity of expres- 
sion, " Nothing can be conceived more hard than the heart 
of a thorough-bred metaphysician. It comes nearer to the cold 
malignity of a wicked spirit, than to the frailty and passion 
of a man.^' The mind and the heart are, in fact, independent 
and distinct faculties of man ; each demands its peculiar 
culture. The neglect to furnish food, aliment, and appro- 
priate training to the moral poivers, leaves one whole 
department of the human soul untouched and unprovided 
for. It is like undertaking to purify the streams, while 
we are throwing poison into the fountain ; or a pruning of 
the branches while we neglect the roots. 

An examination of our penitentiaries and the whole 
catalogue of crime confirms the trudi of our position, that 
great mental activity, without moral training, is baneful. 
Are there none there but the ignorant, the uninformed, the 
stupid ? Alas ! the reverse of this is the picture. How 
often is the reluctant tribute of admiration extorted from 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 123 

the visitor as he gazes on the intelligent countenances, keen 
eyes, and imposing presence of these caged tigers! How 
often does the suspicion arise in the admirer of genius 
whether virtue be indeed favourable to the highest de- 
velopment of mind ; whether its proud aspirings, its eagle 
flights, v/ith unblenching eye, its bold excursions, be 
not repressed by the timid prudence of virtue? Who has 
not gazed with a kind of admiration on a Byron perched in 
proud scorn on the highest pinnacle of the mount of song ; 
— or a Napoleon, great and sublime, in the power of con- 
ceiving bold and extensive plans ; of bringing to bear on a 
mighty object a complicated machinery of means and 
energies to produce great results ; a man who, by the single 
might of his genius, raised himself from obscurity; who sent 
the terror of his name across seas and oceans ; who broke 
down the mighty barrier of the Alps, and made them a 
highway; and whose fame m^s spread beyond the bounda- 
ries of civilization, to the steppes of the Cossack and the 
deserts of the *^rab ; — though he knew that the former 
(Byron) had scattered mildew from his wings, and flung 
perdition all around him ; and the latter (Napoleon) sa- 
crified on the altar of his ambition more than a million of 
his race ? 

The mind needs moral culture in order that it may appre- 
ciate the beauties and glories of nature. Men may talk of 
the all-pervading presence o( beauty, and urge us to cultivate 
a taste for it. And we agree with them fully in the importance 
of the subject. We admit with them that beauty unfolds 
in the numberless flowers of spring — that it waves in the 
branches of the trees, and the green blades of grass — that 
it haunts the depths of the earth and seas, and gleams out 
in the hues of the shell and precious stone — that the ocean, 
the mountains, the clouds, the heavens, the stars, the rising 
and setting sun overflow with beauty. The universe entire 
is its temple. But how is the true taste for appreciating 
this beauty to be secured ? Doubtless the germ of this 
taste is implanted to a greater or less extent in the breast 
of every human being; and it is a power which admits of 
cultivation. But he only who has received appropriate 
moral culture, can truly and fully appreciate this beauty. 
In fact, I believe that regeneration, the conceptions and 
joys of the great salvation, imparts a spiritual illumination 
and perception to the soul which bears an analogy to the 
eye in the body. The material universe becomes beauti- 



124 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ful to us, wlien it assumes the loveliness of spiritual beings 
when it images to us pure and gentle affections ; or when 
in its awful movements it speaks to us of the Omnipotent. 
Proper spiritual culture and illumination impart ability to 
see and feel, more and more keenly, the beauties of nature, 
and lead the mind of the admirer "from nature up to 
nature^s God.^^ 

Another reason why moral and religious culture should 
be united to mental, is the reciprocal and reflex influence 
which correct moral culture exerts on the intellect. The 
indissoluble connexion between the mind and the heart 
makes it impossible to act upon the one without imparting 
an influence to the other. You cannot cultivate the heart 
without affecting the mind, and vice versa. 

There is a diversity of ways in which correct spiritual 
and moral culture increase the vigour and expansion of the 
human mind ; and he who cannot see distinctly that such 
expansion of mind is a necessary and legitimate fruit of 
the process, closes his eyes to the clear light of reason. 

In the first place, then, correct moral culture must tend 
to mental improvement, because it introduces to the mind 
sublime and deeply interesting truths. *' A distinguished 
barrister of our day who has but little faith in evangelical 
doctrines, recommends to his law students the frequent 
perusal of the volumes that discuss those doctrines ; be- 
cause nowhere else can be found such invigorating argu- 
ment on such elevating theories. Indeed, the very allusion 
to the ideas God^ eternity, holiness, is sufficient to show 
that whoever comes into contact with them must be inteU 
lectually quickened and expanded. If intellectually, still 
more so morally. He who communes with the truth of 
God employs the means of spiritual growth."* 

If I desired to give vigour to a man's mind, and enlarge 
the sphere of its vision, I should like to fasten it on the 
truth that God never had a beginning and never shall have 
an end. I would set it to receiving this truth, and to the 
grappling with it. I know that in endeavouring to com- 
prehend this truth, the mind will be quickly mastered, and 
in endeavouring to push on to its boundary lines it will fall 
down weary with travel, and see infinity still stretching 
beyond. He will feel like Henry Kirke White, who, 

• Bib. Repository, vol. x. p. 170. 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 125 

musing on this lofty theme, felt the littleness and feebleness 
of the human mind in its efforts to grasp this subject, and 
said : — 

" O ! who can strive 



To comprehend the vast, the awful truth 
Of the eternity that hath gone by^ 
And not recoil from the dismaying sense 
Of human impotence 1 The hfe of man 
Is summ'd in bustle of days, and in sepulchres 
But the eternal God had no beginning ,- 
He hath no end. Time had been with him 
For everlasting, ere the da3dal world 
Rose from the gulf of loveliness. 

" We feel it possible that even yon sun 
May roll forever: — but we shrink amazed, 
We stand aghast, when we reflect that time 
Knew no commencement ; — that heap age on age 
And million upon million, without end, 
And v/e shall never span the void of days 
That were, and are not but in retrospect. 

"O ! who can compass the Almighty mind? 
Who can unlock the secrets of the High ] 
Who can apply the futile argument 
Of finite beings to infinity P"* 

But the effort will have been a grand mental discipline ; 
and the man, while strengthening his mind by a mighty 
exercise, will have learned the hardest and most useful of 
all lessons, that intellect is not omnipotent ^ but that the 
greatest wisdom may be oftentimes the know^ing ourselves 
ignorant. In fact, there is nothing so salutary for the mind 
as the truths of the Bible, which we take for granted must 
be the rule and text book in a course of moral training 
The sublimity of the topics of which it treats ; the dignified 
manner of handling them ; the nobleness of the mysteries 
which it developes ; the illumination which it throws on 
points the most interesting to creatures conscious of immor- 
tality ; — all these conspire to produce a most happy result 
on the mind that becomes familiar with them ; so that if 
the person should not be benefited morally, he would be 
intellectually. 

Take the man whose mind has been devoted to commer- 
cial pursuits, and let his heart become rectified; let him 
become a follower of Jesus Christ. There will occur in 

* Henry Kirke White's Works, p, 50. 
11* 



126 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

his case a most interesting mental revolution. In place of 
oceans which can be measured and fathomed, he turns his 
thoughts to the boundless ocean of eternity. In place of 
intercourse with beings of a day of his own race, he holds 
communion with creatures of a more glorious intelligence ; 
he sympathizes with the Father of spirits, and brings from 
the celestial regions freights of holy influence more precious 
than any earthly merchandise. In place of ledgers in which 
he casts up the debtor and creditor of a few fellow worms, 
there arises before him the vast volume of doomsday ; and 
his gazings are often on the final balance sheet of the human 
population. 

In the second place, correct moral culture rectifies unholy 
jjassions and appetites, and prepares the mind, by a salu- 
tary process, for the best mental results. Whoever would 
cultivate the mind must restrain the appetites. He that 
would strive for the mastery must be temperate in all things. 
Appetites, affections, desires, impulses, manifest them- 
selves in earliest infancy, before the faculties of thought 
and reason develope themselves. It is the appropriate 
province oi moral culture to take these under her guardian- 
ship ; and whereas they are disordered and liable to the 
greatest abuses, she seeks to regulate them, and to establish 
moral virtues, and to form a religious and moral character, 
and make men good and useful, which is the great end of 
education. There is a close and indissoluble connexion 
between the moral and the 7nental powers. The passions 
exert a powerful influence on the judgment. The voice 
of reason is often drowned by the cry of warring and 
impetuous desires. The understanding will often give 
assent to the greatest absurdities, when the volition has 
resolved to take up their advocacy. Now, so long as the 
morcd powers are disordered, so likewise must be the 
mental. So long as the heart is depraved and disturbed, 
the mind in a certain degree must be out of joint. If you 
would give the mind fair play ; if you would develope the 
powers to the highest extent, there must be applied a cor- 
rective process. When conflicting with unholy and im- 
petuous passions, you cannot tell what a man's under- 
standing is. While a mountain is pressing upon it — while 
biased in its decisions, and impelled to wrong conclusions, 
the intellect can never give us its best rcsidts. If, by the 
corrective influence of moral training — if, by the renewal 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 127 

of the soul in holiness, there be not given new capacities 
to the mind, (which we do not maintain,) what it before 
possessed is allowed to develope itself; and this is prac- 
tically the same as if new powers were given. 

Again, the culture of the heart of which we have spoken 
subserves intellectual improvement^ in a high degree, be- 
cause it secures communion with God, the Eternal Mind. 
This is adapted to improve the mind on the principle that 
intercourse and communion with superior minds increases 
its power in proportion to the closeness of the sympathy, 
and the greatness of the intellect with which we commune. 
One of the most important lessons of moral culture is, 
** that nothing is so well suited to draw out all the powers 
of the mind into their most perfect operation, as to bring it 
into intercourse with Him who is the source and centre of 
all minds. His presence alone, felt and enjoyed, will more 
quicken, illuminate, and enlarge the mind of man than all 
other influences besides. It rouses and stimulates all that 
is spiritual or intellectual within us to be consciously in 
the presence of a man of great intellectual excellence ; 
must not he then who, by the sense-surmounting power of 
faith, dwells in the secret place of the Most High, have of 
all men, other things being equal, incomparably the purest, 
richest, mightiest mental life ? A consciousness of the pre- 
sence of the Supreme Mind ! — what intellectual alertness, 
what stirring of the mental fires, what proclivity to thought, 
w^hat capacity of great and just conceptions, what security 
against partial, low, incomprehensive views must not that 
feeling imply T""^ 

Note. — We have a simple and practical illustration of the effect of 
the gospel on the intellect among pagans. Take the following example 
from Mr. Williams* Mission to the South Sea Islands ; — 

" That the natives are anxious to obtain, and quick in receiving in- 
struction, have been abundantly shown in the preceding narrative. I 
think it right, however, to remark, that, while there is ample evidence 
of their having possessed good powers of mind, previous to the introduc- 
tion of Christianity, with that period a new era commenced, not only in 
their moral history, but also in their intellectual. The process of instruc- 
tion under which they have been brought, the new wants and desires 
created by the supply of knowledge, the excitement produced by a series 
of discoveries, many of which were so wonderful and sublime that they 
could not fail both to quicken and enlarge their faculties, and, above all, 
the elevating power of vital religion, have made them mentally, as well 

* Dr. Skinner's Preaching and Hearing, p. 18. 



128 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

as spiritually, " new creatures in Christ Jesus." This has often appeared, 
in our evening conversations with the natives ; for the missionary keeps 
open house, which, at the close of the day, is often a full house, so many 
come to ask questions, and acquire knowledge ; but still more strikingly 
in their addresses and sermons. Perhaps no minister, even the most 
gifted, could select their illustrations or make their quotations with 
greater judgment and force. In the latter point, I have often been struck 
with their holy ingenuity: and perhaps I may be pardoned for giving 
the following instance of this excellence. A few weeks after I had taken 
leave of Raiatea for England, I had occasion to return to that island ; 
and a short timo subsequent to my arrival, I found that a meeting had 
been convened which I was requested to attend. I knew not its object, 
until the king's speaker arose, and told me, that they had met to request 
me to abandon my intention of visiting England. After many interest- 
ing addresses, a chief arose, and with great gravity said, ' Mr. Williams, 
I have been reading to-day what Paul wrote to the Philippians, " I am 
in a strait between two, having a desire to depart and bs with Christ, 
which is far better ; nevertheless, to abide in the flesh is more needful 
for you." Now we all know that you must wish to see your friends, 
and visit your native country, after so long an absence; this is very rea-^ 
sonable; but don't you think, if Paul was willing to stay even out of 
heaven to do good to Christians on earth, that you ought to forego the 
pleasure of visiting England to do good to usl" This was a touching 
appeal, and feeling it deeply, I replied by expressing my pleasure at 
receiving this proof of their affection, and promised, on revisiting Tahiti, 
to consult Mrs. W., and, if we could not remain ourselves, to persuade 
one of our brother missionaries to reside with them until our return. I 
had no sooner made this declaration than another arose, and, after thank- 
ing me for promising to endeavour to find a substitute, exclaimed, * But 
although we have ten thousand instructors in Christ, we have not many 
fathers, for, in Christ Jesus, you have begotten us through the gospel.' "* 



PART THIRD. 

In addition to other considerations, I may be allowed in 
this connexion, to allude to the superior efficacy of the 
motives proposed by moral and religious culture to secure 
rapid improvement of mind. The motives which are em- 
braced in every system of education, that contemplates the 
culture of the mind, without a recognition of the claims of 
religion, centre entirely in self; while those proposed by a 
proper system of moral culture, are of an enlarged and ex- 
pansive kind. Now it is impossible that there should be 
enlarged views, when those views centre entirely in self, 

* Williams' Enterprises in the South Sea Islands, p. 466. 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 129 

There may be, it is true, lofty and far'Spreadins^ schemes ; 
but as long as those schemes are for the aggrandizement of 
self^ they may require a universe for their sphere, and yet 
require to be described as pitiful and niggardly. The soul 
was made for the most ample enlargement and enjoyment 
of God ; and yet in its most ample expansions it is infinite- 
ly too narrow for God ; and yet his love expands and 
strengthens it, enabling it to hold more and more, and giv- 
ing it more and more to hold ; so that approximation towards 
God, in goodness and in enjoyment, and consequently in 
intellectual power, is actually a principle capable of cidti- 
ration, Christianity enjoins the conscientious practice of 
every virtue which can elevate and adorn the human cha- 
racter, and fit men for action, in the widest sphere, and un- 
der the influence of the noblest principles. And she pro- 
poses a culture, which shall secure the actual discharge of 
all those duties which aim at the highest good of mankind. 
She requires this as the only satisfactory evidence which 
she admits of a title to the rewards of eternity, ** The tree 
is known by its fruit." — Such is the uncompromising test 
she imposes on the sincerity of all who embrace her 
cause, 

1. In s^eakmg specifically of eflacacious motives, I would 
name first, an expansive benevolence. The moral culture 
which we advocate, insists on the highest possible develop- 
ment of mind, in order to make it an instrument of bless- 
ing the world. Its principle is, " It is more blessed to give 
than to receive." ''Do unto others, as ye would that they 
should do unto you." This principle is the precious link 
that unites man with his neighbour, the golden girdle that 
binds the community together, and preserves the integrity 
of the social compact. It thus proposes a motive for the 
attainment of mental excellence, measureless as eternity, 
and as deeply-stirring and important as the salvation of im- 
mortal spirits. The kindling desire of doing good, of bet- 
tering the condition of others — of rescuing our species from 
the ills of disease or of ignorance, under which it suflfers, 
is a most effective and sustaining stimulus to the mind ; the 
best preservative from its directing its energies to paltry 
objects ; the surest antidote to vanity, and whatever evil 
passions may obtrude themselves on the attention. The 
simple desire of doing good cannot inspire genius ; but in 
watching over and directing its efforts ; in silently exclud- 



130 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ing from its productions all that is gross in sense, or bad in 
feeling ; in suggesting ideas of benevolent tendency ; and 
in communicating to the mind's action the healthy glow of 
kindly sentiment, or of philanthropic ardour ; it insensibly 
gives to its works a dignity, an elevation, and a power of 
expression, such as art, or taste, or learning, or even genius, 
alone, could never have attained ; raising them to a higher 
stage of mental excellence, clothing them with the loveliness 
and the glory of moral beauty. 

2. The next motive to which I will give a passing allu- 
sion, in this connexion, is the fact, that a proper course of 
moral training is efficacious in pointing out and insisting 
ON the observance of the laws of success, in all the busi- 
ness of life. 

In every department of society, men live by confidence ; 
and confidence, as Mr. Pitt has justly obser.ved, is a plant 
of slow growth. How can a man expect to secure the con- 
fidence of the public, unless he furnishes a character and 
title which challenge his claim to it ? Men seldom obtain it, 
without knowledge, talents, and sterling integrity, which 
has stood the test of temptation. Now, moral culture seeks 
to lay the axe at the root of selfishness ; to establish such 
principles, and apply such a divine corrective to the heart; 
and to lay the foundations for such a character as may be 
depended on in the most trying circumstances, and in all 
relations. It would moreover inculcate the practical lesson, 
that if we would anticipate success in life, there must be 
a judicious concentration of mental force on the profession 
or business of our choice ; from the limited extent of human 
power, and the shortness of human life. 

It teaches us, moreover, that we must turn to the best ad- 
vantage all opportunities favourable to our success. The 
results of human conduct and human effort are defined by 
laws as certain as those which govern the sun and planets 
in their wheeling orbits. Even entire nations, and success- 
ive ages are powerfully affected by circumstances which to 
the casual observer are very trivial, but which are really of 
. immense importance. Who can estimate the effect on the 
nations of the earth, of the preservation of Moses in the 
ark of bulrushes, by Pharaoh's daughter ? Rome was saved 
from being taken by the Gauls, by the cackling of the sa- 
cred geese, kept in the capitol ; and yet Rome, the Eternal 
City, comprised all that was formidable in power, refined in 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 131 

manners, cultivated in art and science, and illnstrions in 
genius, during the long period of 1000 years ; and D'Agues- 
seau, an eminent French author, observes, that the grand 
destinies of Rome are not yet accomplished ; that she reigns 
throughout the world by her reason^ after having ceased to 
reign by her authority. Uncounted millions, have been 
afTected by the discovery of America by Columbus. Never 
was a vessel so richly freighted with the destiny of nations, 
as that which bore the invincible spirit of Columbus to our 
shores. 

The same laws of success, by which apparently trifling 
circumstances affect nations^ hold good in the case of indi- 
viduals. In the same situation, one man is attentive to the 
course of events ; is watchful of favourable occasions as 
they arise ; decides with promptitude, and acts with intelli- 
gence and energy ; and in this way controls events, and 
turns them to his advantage. Another is inactive, neglect- 
ful, without foresight to anticipate results ; he acts with fee- 
bleness and irresolution ; and instead of controlling events, 
becomes the victim of circumstances. 

One remark further on the laws of success in life may 
be demanded. That was a noble lesson which Lord Chat- 
ham imparted to his nephew: — '' Hold fast, therefore, this 
sheet anchor of happiness, religion. You will often want 
it in times of most danger, the storms and tempests of life.'* 
The greatest chymist of the age, Sir H. Davy, has also 
evinced remarkable wisdom and a noble preference, in the 
following language. " I should prefer ^Jirm religious he- 
lief io every other blessing; for it makes life a discipline 
of goodness ; creates new hopes when all earthly hopes 
vanish ; and throws over the decay, the destruction of ex- 
istence, the most gorgeous of lights. Religion has always 
the same beneficial influence on the mind. In youth, in 
health, in prosperity, it awakens feelings of gratitude and 
sublime love ; and purifies at the same time that it exalts ; 
but it is in misfortune, in sickness, in age, that its effects 
are most beneficially felt; then it furnishes undecaying 
sources of consolation ; it gives a freshness to the mind 
which was supposed to have passed away forever, but 
which is now renovated as an immortal hope. It appears 
as that evening star of light, in the horizon of life, which 
we are sure is to become, in another season, a morning 



132 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Star, and it throws its radiance through the gloom and sha- 
dow of death." 

Without such a hope as we have contemplated, man, in 
every period of his existence, is a desolate being. 

" But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven 
To censure fate, and pious hope forego ; 
Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, 
Perfection, beauty, life, they never know."* 

3. The immortality of the soul, its essential dignity, the 
measureless advances which it may make in moral heauty 
and excellence, under proper training ; and a consideration 
of the sufferings of which it is susceptible by neglect of 
proper culture, furnishes a motive worthy oi attention. 

Think of the high powers of the soul. Its power of 
boundless thought — the recording pen of memory — the 
tablet of the heart — the creations of genius — the light of 
reason — the glow of enterprise. Its powers are great in- 
tellectuaUy, It has a sublime capacity of thought. By 
this it soars into the heavens, penetrates the earth — pene- 
trates itself; questions Xhepast^ anticipates the future, frames 
to itself, from its own fulness, lovelier and sublimer forms 
than it beholds ; and finds throughout the wide regions of 
the universe, types and interpreters of its own deep mys- 
teries and glorious aspirations. But moral greatness is the 
true glory of the soul ; and this depends on moral culture. 
When the soul is smitten with the love of moral beauty and 
virtue, it binds itself with everlasting cords for life and for 
death to truth and duty ; it espouses the great interests of 
human nature; hears in its own conscience a voice louder 
than thunders to ply the one, and stand off from vice when 
it is in danger ; withstands every outward influence which 
W'ould sever it from bleeding innocence and suffering virtue, 
or the cause of freedom and religion ; reposes an unwaver- 
ing confidence in God in the darkest hour. In short, it com- 
munes with God and angels ; it reflects the bright glories 
of heaven ; it mirrors forth the moral splendours of the U7n- 
verse. This mind will be ever vigorous and active. No 
labour can exhaust it — no length of ages can waste its vi- 
gour. No pressure of guilt and suflering can destroy its 
activity. Such a mind, destined to exist and act forever 

* Beattie's Minstrel, b. i. 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 133 

— destined for the bliss of heaven, or the woes of hell, lies 
in the breast of every human being. What is there then, 
about man, worthy of such high regard, as the moral wel- 
fare of this soul ? What principle of education so impor- 
tant, as to secure the moral interests of the soul ? Every 
otlier kind of education, the physical^ the intellectual, 
should be subordinate to this. The object of the few years 
of our probation is the education of the immortal spirit for 
eternity. 

Just turn to what the soul may become by neglect. Even 
highly enlightened, without moral culture, without the in- 
fluence of the Bible enthroned in the heart, its energies 
may be perverted to ruinous courses. All history shows, 
that the energies of the human intellect, when excited by 
the stimulus of knowledge, and uncontrolled by the influ- 
ence of religion, are mighty only to destroy. Like the 
fabled Phaeton in the chariot of his father Phoebus, they 
sweep through the world, spreading consternation and 
death. 

W^hat additional testimony do we require from antiquity, 
respecting the impotence of mere knowledge to preserve 
a nation's character and glory ? or to evince the feebleness 
of 2\\ natural restraints and material instruments of phi- 
losophy and skill ? 



- All true glory rests, 



All praise, all safety, and all happiness, 

Upon the moral law, Egyptian Thebes, 

Tyre, by the margin of the sounding wave, 

Palmyra, central in the desert, fell, 

And the arts died, by which they had been raised. 

Call Archimedes from his buried tomb 

Upon the plain of vanished Syracuse, 

And feelingly the sage shall make report, 

How insecure, now baseless in itself 

Is that philosophy whose sway is framed 

For mere material instruments ; how weak 

Those arts and high inventions if unpropp^d 

By virtue,'* 

What additional arguments are needed, to show that mere 
knowledge cannot prove the bulwark of i/if/ivi^waZ charac- 
ter ? These thoughts may fortify our position. 1. The 
tendency of mere knowledge, unaccompanied by the aid 
of moral obligation, is to lead the mind to forgetfulness of 

12 



134 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

God. While following the discoveries of science, and 
gathering stores of knowledge, in ways independently of 
God, it may at length, in the pride of human reason, reject 
the evidence of revelation, 2. Pride, in great intellectual 
acquisitions, may lead the mind to despise the humbling 
doctrines of the cross ; or a comparison of its accumulated 
treasures, with those in the humble walks of life whose ad- 
vantages have been limited, may remove it further from the 
childlike simplicity of the gospel; and thus prepare it to 
yield to habits congenial with infidel sentiments. Thus a man 
may be led on from step to step, till, dreading the inspecting 
judgment of his Maker, he finds no refuge from anxiety 
and alarm but in the utter rejection of the being of God, 
or, at all events, in the refusal to recognise any accounta- 
bility to the Supreme Being. Thus the man may be left 
to embrace a system which covers the face of nature with 
funeral gloom, while a dark misanthropy spreads over his 
character; and distrust, jealousy, wrath, revenge, and every 
evil passion, are imaged forth in his soul. In the midst of 
millions, he would find himself in a desert. His situation 
would be that of a hermit ; his character that of a fiend. 
His character would find a counterpart in a Caligula, a 
Nero, and a Heliogabalus ; or in a Dan ton, a Marat, a 
Robespierre, and their associates. 

I will not undertake to describe what the soul will become 
in eternity, without the redeeming power of piety in its 
probation, because its awful doom can only be felt and real- 
ized by itself when actually reduced to that suffering. I 
will only say, that I tremble when I think of the future con- 
dition of that person who was blessed with exalted genius, 
and the rare and choice gifts of knowledge, but who lived 
and died in sin. 

" Who knew all learning, and all science knew, 
And all the subtle, nice affinities 
Of matter traced ; its virtues, motions, laws ; 
And most familiarly and deeply talk'd 
Of mental, moral, natural, divine ; 
And to the music of the rolling spheres 
Intelligently listened ; and gazed far back 
Into the awful depths of Deity: 
Did all that mind assisted most could do; 
And yet in misery lived — in misery died^ 
Because he war.ted holiness of heart,"* 

* Pollok's Course of Time, book iv. 



MENTAL AND MORAL CULTURE. 135 

If there be one among the number of the lost, who will 
realize more keenly than the rest, Pollok's description of 
*' Eternal Death," it will be the man of towering but per- 
verted genius and knowledge. 



Of heavenly make 



Original the being seeni'd, but fallen, 

And worn, and wasted with enormous wo; 

And still around the everlasting lance 

It writhed, convulsed, and utter'd mimic groans, 

And tried and wish'd, and ever tried and wish'd 

To die ; but could not die." 

What, then, it may be asked, shall be done ? Is know- 
ledge a dangerous thing ? Shall this precious git't be wilh- 
lield from the great mass of the people ? Must we admit 
that there is a literal as well as an allegorical truth in the 
soliloquy the immortal bard puts into thernouth of the arch 
fiend ? 

" One fatal tree there stands of knowledge call'd, 
Forbidden them to taste; knowledge forbidden 1 
Suspicious reasonless. Why should their Lord 
Envy them that] Can it be sin to know ] 
Can it be death 1 And do they only stand 
By ignorance 1 

f) fair foundation laid, whereon to build 
Their ruin ! Hence I will excite their minds 
With more desire to know and to reject 
Envious commands, invented with design 
To keep them low, when knowledge might exalt 
Equal with gods ; aspiring to be such, 
They taste and die ; what likelier can ensue 1"* 

Of knowledge, independently of a moral and religious 
influence, it is literally true that we taste and die. But 
there is an "elixir of life," which can save and render 
knowledge the glory of our nature — the mighty instrument 
of blessing our race. There is a moral ingredient which, 
mingling with the powerful tonic of knowledge, can save. 
When this influence is predominant, the m,ore knowledge 
the better. We care not how wide and deep are its 
streams. Let it issue forth in its ten thousand channels, 
over the face of society. But what is this conservative 
influence? What is the proper aliment of the spirit? 

* Paradise Lost, book iv. line 514. 



136 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

What training is demanded in order that the moral powers 
may be properly regulated? What will cure the maladies 
of the corrupted heart, and turn every description of know- 
ledge to the best account ? To these questions we unhesi- 
tatingly answer, — the gospel of Jesus Christ. The evan- 
gelical principles and doctrines of Christianity, broadcast 
over the community, by the living teacher; and made effi- 
cacious by the influence of the Eternal Spirit. This is a 
moral medicine, which, while it quickens the understand- 
ing, purifies the heart ; while it clears the vision to pei*- 
ceive truth and right, prepares the affections to embrace 
them. It is only the tree of holiness — 

" of heavenly seed ; 

A native of the skies," 

that bears a fruit suited to purify and exalt the human 
soul in the possession of knowledge. In the spirit of reli- 
ance, then, on the Divine Mind, in giving man the gospel, 
we would avow our settled conviction, that the gospel is 
the only safe basis of education. Men cannot be educated 
without it. They may cavil as much as they please at the 
doctrine of human depravity, it cannot be denied that while 
vice shoots forth with a wanton and luxuriant energy, vir- 
tue is a plant of slow growth. Diligent eflfort and assidu- 
ous care are requisite, in order to bring it to maturity ; and 
the result will never be realized, without the concurrent in- 
fluence of the gospel. Let then the people taste the fruits 
of knowledge : but let the heart also be educated. Let their 
intellects be stored with the principles of science, but let 
them also be imbued with the sentiments of virtue and 
piety. Let the powers of their understandings be deve- 
loped ; but let the mora/ faculties of the immortal spirit be 
also called into exercise, and properly directed, regulated, 
trained, purified. 

The efhcacy of the combined influence of intelligence 
and religion, as a principle of education in preserving na- 
. tions, is abundantly confirmed by history. The Puritans, 
those pioneers of modern freedom, were intelligent and 
deeply imbued with the spirit of Cliristianity. The Eng- 
lish revolution of 1640 was as exciting and troublesome a 
time as the French revolution of 1789. But, controlled by 
the conservative principles of piety, the English patriots 



MENTAL AND MORAL CITLTURE. 137 

were saved from the mad excesses of the French revolution- 
ists. True, they executed their king, but with the stern 
'patriotism of Brutus, who slew his best friend, not because 
he hated Cesar, but because he loved Rome more ; and not 
with the insane thirst of royal blood that characterized the 
French regicides. They contended earnestly ; but it was 
for the defence of great principles, and not the gratification 
of malign passions. If they trampled coronets and mitres 
in the dust, it w^as not as the insignia of office, but as the 
instruments of tyranny. They loved the king^ while tliey 
hated the despot, AH the constitutional liberty which now 
exists in the world, can be traced back directly to the reli- 
gious patriots of 1640. They formed the bone, sinew, and 
muscle of English patriotism. Even Hume himself, a bi- 
goted monarchist and infidel, admits that all the great prin- 
ciples of English liberty, as they are now understood and 
asserted, were developed and maintained by the Puritans ; 
and it was their religion that made them what they were — 
it was the principal element in their character. They bore 
in their bosoms the sacred love of liberty and religion,* 

Under the auspices of men combining such elements, and 
educated under the influence of such principles, the founda- 
tions of our American republic were laid. Ere they left 
the litde bark, the Mayflower, that bore them to our shores, 
they formed themselves into a body politic, having for its 
basis {he fundamental principle, that they should be ruled 
by the majority. Here is the germ of that tree of liberty 
which now rears its lofty top to the heavens, spreading its 
branches over the length and breadth of our land, and under 
whose shade thirteen millions of freemen are reposing. 
Intelligence was cultivated by our pilgrim fathers, and de- 
votion to the great principles of liberty and religion. These 
principles were taught by them in the family, in the school, 
in the sanctuary, and in the halls of legislation. They de- 
scended as a precious patrimony to their children, in their 
successive generations, increasing constantly in vigour and 
strength, till the spirit of liberty broke out in the revolution- 
ary war, and was imbodied in that excellent form of go- 
vernment which, while it blesses with equal rights and pri- 
vileges the millions of our own land, is sending forth a re- 
deemino: influence to the more numerous millions of other 

* Hume's England, vol. v. page 183. 
13* 



138 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

lands, who are groaning under the yoke of oppression and 
tyranny. 

Indeed, the union of sound morals and intelligence is 
among the most effectual of the causes that contribute to the 
welfare of nations ; and, consequently, wherever these are 
combined and united with the firmest bands, you will see 
the most perfect development of good government. The 
fact is well understood, that he will not purely serve his 
country, who neglects his God. He cannot be a safe coun- 
sellor who never prays ^ and that man always has his price, 
who glories in his sin. And there can be no safe, prosper- 
ous government, where the relation which connects man 
with his God is not distinctly recognised. This relation 
imbodies a principle more fruitful in the choicest moral in- 
fluences on individual character, and on communities, than 
any other. The voice of history sustains this position, 
and declares with trumpet tongue, that the only safe prin- 
ciple in education is the necessity of an indissoluble bond 
of union between men^aZ and moral culture. 



No. VI. 

THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED, 

BY MRS. HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. 



** And so you will not sign this paper," said Alfred 
Melton to his cousin, a fine looking young man, who was 
lounging by the centre table. 

*' Not I, indeed. What in life have I to do with these 
decidedly vulgar temperance pledges ? Pshaw ! they have 
a relish of whisky in their very essence !" 

*' Come, come, Cousin Melton," said a brilliant, dark- 
eyed girl, who had been lolling on the sofa during the 
conference, '' I beg of you to give over attempting to evan- 
gelize Edward. You see, as old FalstafT has it, ' he is 
little better than one of the wicked.' You must not waste 
such valuable temperance documents on him." 

'* But seriously, Melton, my good fellow," resumed 
Edward, ** this signing, and sealing, and pledging, is alto- 
gether an unnecessary affair for me. My past and present 
habits, my situation in life, in short, every thing that can 
be mentioned with regard to me, goes against the supposi- 
tion of my ever becoming the slave of a vice so debasing ; 
and this pledging myself to avoid it, is something altogether 
needless, nay, by implication, it is degrading. As to what 
you say of my influence, I am inclined to the opinion, 
that if every man will look to himself, every man will be 
looked to. This modern notion of tacking the whole re- 
sponsibility of society on to every individual, is one 1 am 
not at all inclined to adopt; for, first, I know it is a trouble- 
some doctrine ; and, secondly, I doubt if it be a true one. 
For both which reasons 1 shall decline extending it my 
patronage." 

'* Well, positively," exclaimed the lady, ** you gentlemen 
have the gift of continuance in an uncommon degree. You 
have discussed this matter backwards and forwards, till I 
am ready to perish. I will take this matter in hand myself, 

139 



140 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

and sign a temperance pledge for Edward, and see that he 
gets into none of those naughty courses upon which you 
have been so pathetic." 

*' I dare say," said Melton, glancing on her brilliant face 
with evident admiration, '' that you will be the best temper- 
ance pledge he could have. But every man, cousin, may 
not be so fortunate." 

" But, Melton," said Edward, '* seeing my steady habits 
are so well provided for, you must carry your logic and 
eloquence to some poor fellow less favoured." And thus 
the conference ended. 

*' What a good, disinterested fellow Melton is," said 
Edward, after he had left. 

*' Yes, good as the day is long," said Augusta, *'but 
rather prosy after all. This tiresome temperance business ! 
One never hears the end of it, nowadays. Temperance 
papers — temperance tracts — temperance hotels — temper- 
ance this, that, and the other thing, even down to temperance 
pocket-handkerchiefs for little boys ! Really, the world is 
getting intemperately temperate." 

*' Ah! well, with the security you have offered, Augusta, 
I shall dread no temptation." 

Edward Howard was a young man whose brilliant ta- 
lents^ and captivating manners, had placed him first in the 
society in which he moved. Though without property or 
weight of family connexions, he had become a leader in the 
circles where these appendages are most considered, and 
there were none of their immunities and privileges that 
were not freely at his disposal. 

Augusta Elmore was conspicuous in all that lies within 
the sphere of feminine attainment. She was an orphan, and 
accustomed from a very early age to the free enjoyment 
and control of an independent property. This circum- 
stance, doubtless, added to the magic of her personal graces, 
in procuring for her that flattering deference which beauty 
and wealth secure. 

For a while their absorbing attachment to each other 
tended to withdraw them from the temptations and allure- 
ments of company, and many a long winter evening passed 
delightfully in the elegant quietude of home, as they read, 
and sang, and talked of the past, and dreamed of the future, 
in each other's society. But, contradictory as it may ap- 
pear to the theory of the sentimentalist, it is nevertheless a 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 141 

fact, that two persons cannot always find suilicient excite- 
ment in talking to each other merely ; and this is especially 
true of those to whom high excitement has been a necessary 
of life. After a while, the young couple, though loving 
each other none the less, began to respond to the many 
calls which invited them again into society, and the pride 
they felt in each other added zest to the pleasures of their 
return. 

As the gaze of admiration followed the graceful motions 
of the beautiful wife, and the whispered tribute went round 
the circle whenever she entered, Edward felt a pride be- 
yond all that flattery, addressed to himself, had ever excited. 
And Augusta, when told of the convivial talents, and the 
powers of entertainment which distinguished her husband, 
could not resist the temptation of urging him into society, 
even oftener than his own wishes would have led him. 

It was not until the cares and duties of a mother began 
to confine her at home, that she first felt, with a startling 
sensation of fear, that there was an alteration in her husband ; 
though even then the change was so shadowy and indefinite, 
that it could not be defined by words. 

It was known by that quick, prophetic sense, which 
reveals to the heart of woman the first variation in the pulse 
of affection, though it be so slight that no other touch can 
detect it. 

Edward was still fond, affectionate, admiring, and when 
he tendered her all the little attentions demanded by her 
situation, or caressed and praised his beautiful son, she felt 
satisfied and happy. But when she saw that even without 
her the convivial circle had its attractions, and that he 
could leave her to join it, she sighed — she scarce knew 
why. *' Surely," she said, *' I am not so selfish as to wish 
to rob him of pleasure, because I cannot enjoy it with him. 
But yet, once he told me there was no pleasure where I 
was not. Alas ! is it true, what I have so often heard, that 
such feelings cannot always last?" 

Poor Augusta I She knew not how deep reason she had 
to fear. She saw not the temptations that surrounded her 
husband, in the circles where to all the stimulus of wit and 
intellect, was often added the zest of wine, used far too 
freely for safety. 

It was at this period in the life of Edward, that one judi- 
cious and manly friend, who would have had the courage 



142 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

to point out to him the clanger that every one else perceived, 
mio:ht have saved him. But among the circle of his ac- 
quaintances, there was none such. ^"Let every man mind 
his own business,^^ was their universal maxim. 

It was a cold winter evening, and the wind whistled 
drearily around the close shutters of the parlour in which 
Augusta was sitting. Every thing around her bore the 
marks of elegance and comfort. 

Splendid books and engravings lay about in every direc- 
tion. Vases of rare and costly flowers exhaled perfume, 
and magnificent mirrors multiplied every object. All spoke 
of luxury and repose, save the anxious and sad countenance 
of its mistress. 

It was late, and she had watched anxiously for her hus- 
band for many long hours. She drew out her gold and 
diamond repeater, and looked at it. It was long past mid- 
night. She sighed as she remembered the pleasant evenings 
they had passed together, as her eye fell on the books they 
had read together, and on her piano and harp, now silent, 
and thought of all he had said and looked, in those days 
when each was all to the other. 

She was aroused from this melancholy revery by a loud 
knocking at the street door. She hastened to open it, but 
started back at the sight it disclosed — her husband borne 
by four men. 

** Dead ! is he dead ?" she screamed in agony. 

'* No ma'am," said one of the men, '* but he might as 
well be dead as in such a fix as this." 

The whole truth, in. all its degradation, flashed on the 
mind of Augusta. Without a question or comment, she 
motioned to the sofa in the parlour, and her husband was 
laid there. She locked the street door, and when the last 
retreating footstep had died away, she turned to the sofa, 
and stood gazing in fixed and almost stupified silence on 
the face of her senseless husband. 

Augusta was a woman of no common energy of spirit, 
and when the first wild burst of anguish was over, she re- 
solved not to be wanting to her husband and children in a 
crisis so dreadful. 

'' When he wakes," she mentally exclaimed, '' I will 
warn and implore ; I will pour out my whole soul to save 
him. My poor husband, you have been misled, betrayed. 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 143 

But you are too good — too generous — too noble to be sacri- 
ficed without a desperate struggle." 

It was late the next morning before the stupor in which 
Edward was plunged began to pass off. He slowly opened 
his eyes, started up wildly, gazed hurriedly around the 
room, till his eye met the fixed and sorrowful gaze of his 
wife. The past instantly flashed upon him, and a deep 
flush passed over his countenance. There was a dead, a 
solemn silence ; until Augusta, yielding to her agony, threw 
herself into his arms and wept. 

*' Then you do not hale me, Augusta?" said he, sorrow- 
fully. 

'* Hate you — never — but O, Edward, Edward, what has 
beguiled you ?" 

*' My wife — you once promised to be my guardian in 
virtue — such you are, and will be. O, Augusta, you have 
looked on what vou shall never see aorain- — never — never — 
so help me God 1" said he, looking up with solemn earnest- 
ness. 

And Augusta, as she gazed on the noble face, the ardent 
expression of sincerity and remorse, could not doubt that 
her husband was saved. But Edward's plan of reformation 
had one grand defect. It was merely modification and re- 
trenchment, and not entire ahandommnt. He could not feel 
it necessary to cut himself ofT entirely from the scenes and 
associations where temptation had met him. He considered 
not that when the temperate flow of the blood, and the even 
balance of the nerves has once been destroyed, there is, 
ever after, a double and fourfold liability which often makes 
a man the sport of the first untoward chance. 

He still contrived to stimulate sufficiently to prevent the 
return of a calm and healthy state of the mind and body, 
and to make constant self-control and watchfulness neces- 
sary. 

It is a great mistake to call nothing intemperance but 
that degree of physical excitement which completely over- 
throws the mental powers. There is a state of nervous 
excitability, resulting from what is often called moderate 
stimulation, which often long precedes this, and is, in regard 
to it, like the premonitory warnings of the fatal cholera, an 
unsuspected draft on the vital powers, from which, at any 
moment, they may sink into irremediable collapse. 

Such was the case with Edw^ard. He had lost his inte- 



144 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

rest in his regular business, and he embarked the bulk of 
his property in a brilliant scheme then in vogue. And 
when he found a crisis coming, threatening ruin and beg- 
gary, he had recourse to the fatal stimulus, which, alas, he 
had never wholly abandoned. 

At this time he spent some months in a distant city, 
separated from his wife and family, while the insidious 
power of temptation daily increased, as he kept up, by 
artificial stimulus, the flagging vigour of his mind and 
nervous system. 

It came at last — the blow which shattered alike his bril- 
liant dreams and his real prosperity. The large fortune 
brought by his wife vanished in a moment, so that scarcely 
a pittance remained in his hands. From the distant city 
where he had been to superintend his schemes, he thus 
wrote to his too confiding wife : 

**Augusta, all is over — expect no more from your hus- 
band — believe no more of his promises — for he is lost to 
you and you to him. Augusta, our property is gone— 
your property, which I have blindly risked, is all swal- 
lowed up. But is that the worst? No — no— Augusta, I 
am lost — lost — body and soul, and as irretrievably as the 
perishing riches I have squandered. Once I had energy — 
health — nerve — resolution — but all are gone — yes, yes, I 
have yielded — I do yield daily to what is at once my tor- 
mentor and my temporary refuge from intolerable misery. 
You remember the sad hour you first knew your husband 
was a drunkard. Your look, on that morning of misery, 
shall I ever forget it ! Yet blind and confiding as you were, 
how soon did your ill-judged confidence in me return. Vain 
hopes ! I was even then past recovery — even then sealed 
over to blackness of darkness forever. 

*'Alas, my wife — my peerless wife ! why am I your hus- 
band ? why the father of such children as you have given 
me ? Is there nothing in your unequalled loveliness — 
nothing in the innocence of our helpless babes, that is 
powerful enough to recall me ? No, there is not. 

*' In some peaceful retirement you may concentrate your 
strong feelings upon your children, and bring them up to fill 
a place in your heart, which a worthless husband has 
abandoned. If I leave you now, you will remember me, 
as I have been — you will love me and weep for me when 
dead — but if you stay with me, your love will be worn out: 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 145 

I shall become the object of disgust and loathing. There- 
fore farewell, my wife — my first, best love, farewell — with 
you I part with hope— 

" * and with hope, farewell fear, 

Farewell remorse : all good to me is lost ; 

Evil, be thou my good.' 

This is a wild strain — but fit for me — do not seek for me, 
do not write — nothing can save me." 

Thus abruptly began and ended the letter that conveyed 
to Augusta the deathdoom of her hopes. There are mo- 
ments of agony, when the most worldly heart is pressed 
upward to God, even as a weight will force upward the re- 
luctant wdter. Augusta had been a generous, a highminded, 
an affectionate woman, but she had lived entirely for this 
world. Her chief good had been her husband, and her 
cliildren. These had been her pride, her reliance, her de- 
pendence. Strong in her own resources, she had never felt 
the need of looking to a higher power for assistance and 
happiness. But when this letter fell from her trembling 
hand, her heart died within her at its wild and reckless bit- 
terness. 

In her desperation she looked up to God. *' What have 
I to live for now V was the first feeling of her heart. 

But she repressed this inquiry of selfish agony, and be- 
sought Almighty assistance to nerve her weakness ; and 
here first began that practical acquaintance with the truths 
and hopes of religion, wnich changed her whole character. 

The possibility of blind confiding idolatry of any earthly 
object was swept away by the fall of her husband, and with 
the full energy of a decided and restless spirit, she threw 
herself on the protection of an Almighty helper. She fol- 
lowed her husband to the city whither he had gone — found 
him, and vainly attempted to save. 

There were the usual alternations of short-lived reforma- 
tions, exciting hopes only to be destroyed. There was the 
gradual sinking of the body, the decay of moral feeling and 
principle — the slow but sure approach of disgusting animal- 
ism, which marks the progress of the drunkard. 

It was some years after, that a small and pardy ruinous 
tenement in the outskirts of A , received a new fa- 
mily. The group consisted of four children, whose wan and 
wistful countenances, and still, unchildlike deportment, tes- 
tified an early acquaintance with want and sorrow. There 

13 



146 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

was the mother, faded and careworn, whose dark and me- 
lancholy eyes, pale cheeks, and compressed lips, told of 
years of anxiety and endurance. Tiiere was the father, 
with haggard face, unsteady step, and that callous, reckless 
air that betrayed long familiarity with degradation and crime. 
Who that had seen Edward Howard in the morning and 
freshness of his days, could have recognised him in this 
miserable husband and father ; or who in this worn and 
wo-stricken woman, would have known the beautiful, bril- 
liant, and accomplished Augusta ? Yet such changes are 
not fancy, as many a bitter and broken heart can testify. 

Augusta had followed her guilty husband through many 
a change, and many a weary wandering. All hope of re- 
formation had gradually faded away. Her own eyes had 
seen, her ears had heard, all those disgusting details, too 
revolting to be portrayed. For in drunkenness there is no 
royal road — no salvo for greatness of mind, refinement of 
taste, or tenderness of feeling. All alike are merged in 
the corruption of a moral death. 

The traveller, who met Edward reeling by the roadside, 
was sometimes startled to hear the fragments of classical 
lore, or wild bursts of half-remembered poetry, mixing 
strangely with the imbecile merriment of intoxication. But 
when he stopped to gaze, there was no farther mark on his 
face or in his eye, by which he could be distinguished from 
the loathsome and lowest drunkard. 

Augusta had come with her husband to a city where they 
were wholly unknown, that she might, at least, escape the 
degradation of their lot in the presence of those who had 
known them in better days. 

Augusta had been here but a few weeks, before her foot- 
steps were traced by her only brother, who had lately 
discovered her situation, and urged her to forsake her un- 
worthy husband and find refuge with him. 

" Augusta, my sister, I have found you," he exclaimed, 
as he suddenly entered one day, while she was busied with 
the work of her family. 

" Henry, my dear brother !'* There was a momentary 
illumination of countenance accompanying these words, 
which soon faded into a mournful quietness, as she cast her 
eyes around on the scanty accommodations and mean apart- 
ment. 

** I see how it is, Augusta — step by step, you are sink- 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 147 

ing — dragged down by a vain sense of duty to one no longer 
worthy. I cannot bear it any longer, I have come to take 
you away." 

Augusta turned from him, and looked abstractedly out 
of the window. Her features settled in thought. Their 
expression gradually deepened from their usual tone of mild, 
resigned sorrow, to one of keen anguish. 

** Henry," said she, turning toward him, '' never was 
mortal woman so blessed in another, as I once was m him. 
How can I forget it? Who knew him in those days that 
did not admire and love him ? They tempted and ensnared 
him ; and even I urged him into the path of danjjer. He fell, 
and there was none to help. I urged reformation, and he again 
and again promised, resolved, and beffan. But again they 
tempted him, even his very best friends ; yes, and that, too, 
when they knew his danger. They led him on as far as it 
was safe for the7n to go, and when the sweep of fiis more 
excitable temperament took him past the point of safety and 
decency, they stood by and coolly wondered and lamented. 
How often was he led on by such heartless friends to hu- 
miliating falls, and then driven to desperation by the cold 
look, averted faces, and cruel sneers of those whose me- 
dium temperament and cooler blood saved them from the 
snares which they saw were enslaving him. What if / had 
forsaken him then? What account should I have rendered 
to God ? Every time a friend has been alienated by his 
comrades, it has seemed to seal him with another seal. I 
am his wife — and mine will be the last. Henry, when I 
leave him, 1 know his eternal ruin is sealed. 1 cannot do 
it now ; a little longer ; a little longer ; the hour I see must 
come. I know my duty to my children forbids me to keep 
them here ; take them, they are my last earthly comforts, 
Henry ; but you must take them away. It may be — O 
God — perhaps hmiist be, that I shall soon follow ; but not 
till I have tried 07ice more. What is this present life to 
one who has suffered as 1 have ? Nothing. But eternity ! 
O, Henry ! — eternity — how can I abandon him to ever- 
lasting despair ! Under the breaking of ray heart I have 
borne up. I have borne up under all that can try a woman 
—but this thought" — She stopped, and seemed struggling 
with herself; but at last, borne down by a tide of agony, 
she leaned her head on her hands ; the tears streamed 



148 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

through her fingers, and her whole frame shook v/ith con- 
vulsive sobs. 

Her brother wept with her ; nor dared he again to touch 
the point so solemnly guarded. The next day Augusta 
parted from her children, hoping something from feelings 
that, possibly, might be stirred by their absence, in the 
bosom of their father. 

It was about a week after this, thai Augusta one evening 

presented herself at the door of a rich Mr. L-^ , whose 

princely mansion was one of the ornaments of the city of 
A . It was not tilLshe reached the sumptuous drawing- 
room, that she recognised in Mr. L , one whom she 

and her husband had frequently met in the gay circles of 

their early life. Altered as she was, Mr. L did not 

recognise her, but compassionately handed her a chair, and 
requested her to wait the return of his lady, who was out ; 
and then turning, he resumed his conversation with another 
gentleman. 

*' Now, Dallas," said he, " you are altogether excessive 
and intemperate in this matter. Society is not to be reformed 
by every man directing his efforts toward his neighbour, 
but by every man taking care of himself. It is you and I, 
my dear sir, who must begin with ourselves, and every 
other man must do the same ; and then society will be 
effectually reformed. Now this modern way, by which 
every man considers it his duty to attend to the spiritual 
matters of his next-door neighbour, is taking the business at 
the wrong end altogether. It makes a vast deal of appear- 
ance, but it does very little good." 

" But suppose your neighbour feels no disposition to at- 
tend to his own improvement — what then ?" 

" Why, then, it is his own concern, and not mine. What 
my Maker requires is, that I do my duty, and not fret 
about my neighbour's." 

" But, my friend, that is the very question. What is the 
duty your Maker requires ? Does it not include some re- 
gard to your neighbour, some care and thought for his inte- 
rest and improvement ?" 

** Well, well, I do that by setting a good example. I do 
not mean by example, what you do — that is, that I am to 
stop drinking wine because it may lead him to drink brandy, 
any more than that I must stop eating, because he may eat 
too much and become a dyspeptic ; but that I am to use my 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 149 

wine, aiul every thing else, temperately and decently, and 
thus set him a good example." 

The conversaiion was here interrupted by the return of 

Mrs. L . It recalled, in all its freshness, to the mind 

of Augusta, the days when both she and her husband had 
thus spoken and thought. 

Augusta received in silence from Mrs. L the fine 

sewing for which she came, and left the room. 

** Ellen," said Mr. L to his wife, *' that poor woman 

must be in trouble of some kind or other. You must go 
some time, and see if any thing can be done for her." 

** How singular !" said Mrs. L , '* she reminds me 

all the time of Augusta Howard. You remember her, my 
dear ?" 

** Yes, poor thing ! and her husband too. That was a 
shocking affair of Edward Howard's. I hear that he be- 
came an intemperate, worthless fellow. Who could have 
thought it !" 

'* But you recollect, my dear," said Mrs. L — — , " I pre- 
dicted it six months before it was talked of. You remem- 
ber at the wine party which you gave after Mary's wedding, 
he was so excited that he was hardly decent. I mentioned 
then that he was getting into dangerous ways. But he was 
such an excitable creature, that two or three glasses would 
put him quite beside himself. And there is George Eldon, 
who takes off his ten and twelve glasses, and no one sus- 
pects it." 

*' Well, it was a great pity," replied Mr. L , '' How- 
ard was wortii a dozen George Eldons." 

" Do you suppose," said Dallas, who had listened thus 
far in silence, ** that if he had moved in a circle where it 
was the universal custom to banish all stimulating drinks, 
he would thus have fallen ?" 

*' I cannot say," said Mr. L , ** perhaps not." 

Mr. Dallas was a gentleman of fortune and leisure, and 
of an ardent and enthusiastic temperament. Whatever 
engaged him, absorbed his whole soid ; and of late years, 
his mind had become deeply engaged in schemes of philan- 
thropy for the improvement of his fellow men. He had, 
in his benevolent ministrations, often passed the dwelling 
of Edward, and was deeply interested in tlie pale and 
patient wife and mother. He made acquaintance with her 
through the aid of her children, and, in one way and an- 

13* 



150 MUSEUM OP EELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Other, learned particulars of their history, that awakened 
the deepest interest and concern. None but a mind as 
sanguine as his would have dreamed of attempting to 
remedy such hopeless misery, by the reformation of him 
who was its cause. But such a plan had actually occurred 

to him. The remarks of Mr. and Mrs. L recalled the 

idea, and he soon found that his projected protegee was the 
very Edward Howard whose early history was thus dis- 
closed. He learned all the minutice from these his early 
associates without disclosing his aim, and left them, still 
more resolved upon his benevolent plan. 

He watched his opportunity when Edward was free from 
the influence of stimulus, and it was just after the loss of 
his children had called forth some remains of his better 
nature. Gradually and kindly he tried to touch the springs 
of his mind, and awaken some of its buried sensibilities. 

" It is in vain, Mr. Dallas, to talk thus to me," said Ed- 
ward, when, one day, with the strong eloquence of excited 
feeling, he painted the motives for attempting reformation — 
'* you might as well try to reclaim the lost in hell. Do 
you think," he continued in a wild, determined manner, 
" do you think I do not know all you can tell me — I have 
it all by heart, sir — no one can preach such discourses as 
I can on this subject — 1 know all — believe all — as the devils 
believe and tremble." 

"Ay, but," said Dallas, " to you there is hope — you 
«re not to ruin yourself forever." 

"And who the devil are you, to speak to me in this way ?" 
said Edward, looking up from his sullen despair with a 
gleam of curiosity, if not of hope. 

" God's messenger to you, Edward Howard," said Dal- 
las, fixing his keen eye upon him solemnly; "to you, 
Edward Howard, who have thrown away talents, hope, 
and health — who have blasted the heart of your wife, and 
beggared your suffering children. To you I am the mes- 
senger of your God — by me he offers health, and hope, 
and self-respect, and the regard of your fellow men. You 
may heal the broken heart of your wife, and give back a 
father to your helpless children. Think of it, Howard — 
what if it were possible ? only suppose it. What would it 
be, again to feel yourself a man, beloved and respected as 
you once were, with a happy home, a cheerful wife, and 
smiling little ones ? Think how you could repay your 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED. 151 

poor wife for all her tears ? What hinders you from gain- 
ing all this ?" 

** Just what hindered the rich man in hell — ^between us 
there is a great gulf JixecV — it lies between me and all 
that is good — my wife — my children — my hope of heaven 
are all on the other side." 

"Ay, but this gulf can be passed — Howard, what ivould 
you give to be a temperate man ?" 

'* What would I give ?" said Howard — he thought for a 
moment, and burst into tears. 

**Ah, I see how it is," said Dallas, '* you need a friend, 
and God has sent you one." 

*' What can you do for me, Mr. Dallas ?" said Edward, 
in a tone of wonder at the confidence of his assurances. 

** I will tell you what I can do — I can take you to my 
house and give you a room, and watch over you until the 
strongest temptations are past — I can give you business 
again. I can do all for you that needs to be done, if you 
will give yourself to my care." 

*' O God of mercy !" exclaimed the unhappy man, " is 
there hope for me ? I cannot believe it possible — but take 
me where you choose — I will follow and obey." 

A few hours witnessed the transfer of the lost husband 
to one of the retired apartments in the elegant mansion of 
Dallas, where he found his anxious and grateful wife still 
stationed as his watchful guardian. 

Medical treatment, useful employment, healthful exer- 
cise, simple food and pure water, were connected with a 
personal supervision by Dallas, which, while gently and 
politely sustained, at first amounted to actual imprisonment. 

For a time tlie reaction from the sudden suspension of 
habitual stimulus was dreadful, and, even with tears, did the 
unhappy man entreat to be permitted to abandon the under- 
taking. But the resolute steadiness of Dallas and the ten- 
der entreaties of his wife prevailed. It is true that he might 
be said to be saved '* so as by fire ;" for a fever and a long 
and fierce delirium wasted him almost to the borders of the 
grave. 

But at length the struggle between life and death was 
over, and though it left him stretched on the bed of sick- 
ness, emaciated and weak, yet he was restored to his right 
mind, and was conscious of returning health. Let any one 
who has laid a friend in the grave, and known what it is to 



152 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

have the heart fail with longing for them day by day, 
imagine the dreamy and unreal joy of Augusta, when she 
began again to see in Edward the husband so long lost to 
her. It was as if the grave had given back the dead ! 

"Augusta!" said he, faintly, as after a long and quiet 
sle^p he awoke free from delirium. She bent over him. 
* 'Augusta, I am redeemed — I am saved — I feel m myself 
that I am made whole." 

The high heart of Augusta melted at these words. She 
trembled and wept. Her husband wept also, and after a 
pause he continued : 

'* It is more than being restored to this life. I feel that 
it is the beginning of eternal life. It is the Saviour who 
sought me out, and I know that he is able to keep me from 
falling." 

But we will draw a veil over a scene which words have 
little power to paint. 

*VPray, Dallas," said Mr. L , one day, "who is 

that fine looking yoimg man whom I met in your office 
this morning ? I thought his face seemed familiar." 

" It is a Mr. Howard — a young lawyer whom I have 
lately taken into business with me." 

" Strange ! — impossible !" said Mr. L " Surely 

this cannot be the Howard that I once knew ?" 

" I believe it is," said Mr. Dallas. 

** Why, I thought he was gone — dead and done over 
long ago, with intemperance." 

*' He was so — few have ever sunk lower — but he now 
promises even to outdo all that was hoped of him." 

" Strange ! Why, Dallas, what did bring about this 
change ?" 

" I feel a delicacy in mentioning how it came about to 

you, Mr. L , as there undoubtedly was a great deal of 

* interference with other men's matters' in the business. 
In short, the young man fell in the way of one of those 
meddlesome fellows, who go prowling about, distributing 
tracts, forming temperance societies, and all that sort of 
stuff." 

" Come, come, Dallas," said Mr. L , smiling, " I 

must hear the story for all that." 

** First call with me at this house," said Dallas, stopping 
before the dcor of a neat little mansion. They were soon 
in the parlour. The first sight that met their eyes was 



THE DRUNKARD RECLAIMED, 153 

Edward Howard, who, with a cheek glowing with exer- 
cise, was tossing aloft a blooming boy, while Augusta was 
watching his motions, her face radiant w^ith smiles. 

** Mr. and Mrs. Howard, this is Mr. L , an old 

acquaintance, I believe.'* 

There w^as a moment of mutual embarrassment and sur- 
prise, soon dispelled, however, by the frank cordiality of 

Edward. Mr. L sat down, but could scarce withdraw 

his eyes from the countenance of Augusta, in whose elo- 
quent face he recognised a beauty of a higher cast than 
even in her earlier days. 

He glanced about the apartment. It was simply, but 
tastefully furnished, and wore an air of retired, domestic 
comfort. There were books, engravings, and musical 
instruments. Above all, there were four happy, healthy 
looking children, pursuing studies or sports at the farther 
end of the room. 

After a short call, they regained the street. 

** Dallas, you are a happy man," said Mr. L , '' that 

family will be a mine of jewels to you." 

He was right. Every soul saved from pollution and 
ruin is a jewel to him that reclaims it, whose lustre only 
eternity can disclose ; and therefore it is written, ** They 
that are wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, 
and they that turn many to righteousness, as the stars for- 
ever and ever." 



No. VIL 
EARLY PIETY. 



PART FIRST. 

EARLY PIETY POSSIBLE.—REMARKS TO PARENTS. 

BY WILLIAM S. PLUMER, D. D. 

Begin early. — This is the true doctrine, let our views 
of early piety be what they may. None who will be bene- 
fited by these pages will question the susceptibility of the 
youthful mind to receive impressions which may at some 
time be matured into a saving change. There are habits 
of great importance to children, which cannot be acquired 
too soon. Such are habits of obedience in many things. 
What parent does not think his child as capable of under- 
standing his meaning in many things, when but a few weeks 
old, as is the dog that lies on the hearth ? You may there- 
fore teach it some things which it is important for it to 
know, even when very young. This is the training which 
it receives as an animal. Intellectual and moral training 
will not so soon be possible. Yet defer not needlessly. 
First impressions are lasting. See to it that they be desi- 
rable. Impressions respecting good and evil your child 
will have. Let them be according to truth. 

It not unfrequently occurs, that on the introduction of a 
subject we discover in ourselves strong prejudices against 
it. Sometimes we cannot trace them to their origin and 
sometimes we can. It is not impossible to find out suf- 
ficient causes for all the apparent aversion of many minds 
towards the subject now presented. It may be asserted as 
a first principle, that the truly pious do heartily rejoice in 
the progress of ♦rue religion in all cases, if they do but 

154 



EARLY PIETY. 155 

discover that it is true religion, and not something else in 
the disguise of piety. And yet it cannot be denied that 
there are views and feelings among many good people, 
respecting this matter, whenever introduced, that are ex- 
ceedingly painful to think upon. 

Now, it is not impossible to trace these prejudices to 
causes which have been in operation for many years. 

One of them has been the manner in which the conver- 
sions of very young persons have been spoken of from the 
pulpit and through the press. How often has it of late years 
been announced, that some great and important discoveries 
have been made on the subject, and that hitherto the church 
has been in great ignorance and error. The very pom- 
pousness of the announcements which have been made in 
many places, was sufficient to disgust the less spiritual with 
the whole subject, and to create strong fears in the minds of 
the pious. The following are but samples of what has 
been published in the newspapers respecting the doings of 
some in transient labours among children. ''On examination, 
mothers obtained comfortable evidence for more than sixty 
of their cliildren, that they are born of the Spirit of God" 
— " Upwards of fifty children were converted during our 
meeting" — '' The result of our meeting was the hopeful 
conversion of more than one hundred children." To " those 
who, by reason of use, have their senses exercised to dis- 
cern good and evil," such statements are exceedingly 
painful. How different this course is from that taken by -a 
patriarch in Israel, very many of whose grandchildren, and 
other young friends, were professing to have rested their 
hope in Christ, and to rejoice in hope of the glory of God, 
Instead of any confident assertions respecting them, he 
seemed to be unusually solemn, and uncommonly engaged 
in prayer. When some one said to him that these things 
must make him very happy, he replied — " Wait ! Let us 
see what sort of fruit they wall bear. If that be good, we 
can then all rejoice together." 

Another ground of prejudice is the very injudicious treat- 
ment which in most cases those receive who at a very 
early period profess religion. They are spoiled with atten- 
tions. Paul charges Timothy not to bring forward any 
young convert, however many his years in life, to the con- 
spicuous work of a religious teacher, and assigns this re- 
markable reason ; *' lest being lifted up with pride, he fall 



156 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

into the condemnation of the devil." Well would it have 
been for the honour of religion if the principle here incul- 
cated had been duly regarded in every department of the 
church. Who has not been pained at seeing children and 
young persons who had professed religion, paraded in 
public as somewhat remarkable, their sayings repeated, and 
their services called for in conducting prayer, and some- 
times even exhortation, among their superiors in age, and 
wisdom, and piety ? Even admitting one to have some true 
piety, such treatment must induce something unlovely in 
the whole appearance, unless the grace afforded be without 
a parallel. How lovely and instructive to mothers the 
example of the most highly favoured among women, who 
did not repeat the sayings of her Son, but hid them in her 
heart. (Luke ii. 51.) Go and do likewise. 

Then, again, it is admitted that there are but few, very 
few examples of unquestionable piety among very young 
persons. The fact that many of those, who profess religion 
early, do also die early, seems to leave the matter in a light 
but little calculated to convince the skeptical. And because 
the examples of undoubted piety are few^ some make the 
inference that there are none ; and believing that there are 
none, they do not pray and labour hoping to witness very 
happy or decisive effects on their children. Indeed many 
seem to be fairly under the influence of the practical judg- 
ment that very early piety governing the lives of children 
is unattainable. Hence the total absence, in many cases, 
of all direct and earnest efforts for the salvation of the 
young. 

The regulations of families and of schools are also not 
unfrequently and powerfully opposed to early conversions. 
A. had a little friend who, at nine years of age, confessed 
himself ready to serve God at any hazard. The children 
in his family laughed him to scorn, and knocked at his 
door when he retired for devotion. And at school his com- 
panions would form a circle around him, and shout — 
" O ! here is a little Christian." This course lasted one 
whole summer. Is it not strange that he was yet able in 
meekness to bear their taunts, and not withdraw his testi- 
mony nor let go his confidence ? Yet who cannot see how 
utterly unfriendly such a situation must be to the mainte- 
nance and growth of any thing like the spirit of devotion ? 
Let parents, and guardians, and teachers, therefore, see to 



EARLY PIETY. 157 

it, that every arrangement be such as not to favour an orga- 
nized system of persecution ; but on the contrary to afford 
every facility and encouragement to the youngest for the 
formation of devotional habits. 

These general impressions are, in many cases, very 
strong and deeply rooted. So true is this, that all the 
strength of a scriptural argument is necessary to remove 
them. 

Let it be stated that no one has ever yet attempted to 
justify these general views, from any want of adaptation 
in Scripture truth to affect even a very youthful mind, nor 
from any sober interpretation of Scripture statements de- 
claring the thing impo-ssible. On the contrary, the Scrip- 
tures afford many instances of plain teaching directly to 
the contrary. Let us look at a few of them. *' Out of the 
mouths of babes and sucklings thou hast ordained strength." 
Ps. viii. 2. The intelligent reader remembers that the 
Saviour, when on earth, quoted these words, and declared 
them fulfilled even in his day. Yes, the little ones can, 
by their hallelujahs, '* still the voice of the adversary." 
''Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven." Matt. xix. 14. 
It is promised tiiat in the latter day glory " the child shall 
die an hundred years old." Isa. Ixv. 20. That is, the 
child, in that age, shall be as far advanced in knowledge 
and in grace as in other ages were ordinarily attained by 
those who arrived at the great age of a hundred years. 
Lideed, the tenor of Scripture decidedly encourages us to 
regard children as suitable subjects of piety. Such pas- 
sages as Matt, xviii. 4, and 1 Cor. xiv. 20, do not easily 
admit of any tolerable interpretation on any other supposi- 
tion. All admit that children may be and are subjects of 
the renewing influences of the Holy Spirit before they 
arrive at years of understanding, and that thus they who 
die in early infancy are fitted for heaven. Why then 
should it be thought impossible for God to renew and save 
one whose mind had advanced to the first grades of intel- 
lectual and rational exercise ? It is not contended that true 
religion will make men and women of children. It will 
rather maintain in them every thing that properly belongs 
to childhood. Let them retain all their feebleness, and 
diffidence, and feeling of dependence on others, and fond- 

14 



158 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ness for retirement from public gaze. All we contend for 
is, that they be encouraged to carry with them, as children, 
the spirit of piety. 



THE WAY TO USE THE BIBLE IN INCULCATING EARLY 

PIETY. 

BY REV. JACOB ABBOTT. 

It is of great consequence that you pursue a proper 
course in endeavouring to interest your children in the 
study of the Scriptures, Upon a proper use of this volume 
every thing depends. There are some parts which children 
can at a very early age understand and appreciate. Others, 
from their style or subject, will act efficiently on mature 
minds alone. From the former, which ought to be early 
read and explained, an immediate and most important reli- 
gious influence can at once be expected. Selections from 
the latter should be fixed in the memory, to exert an influ- 
ence in future years. 

For the former of these purposes, the narrative parts, 
if judiciously selected, are most appropriate in early years. 
But great care ought to be taken to select those which may 
be easily understood, and those in which some mora] lesson 
is obvious and simple. Let it be constantly borne in mind, 
that the object in view in teaching the Bible to a child, is 
to afl'ect his heart ; and it would be well for every mother 
to pause occasionally, and ask herself, '* What moral duty 
am I endeavouring to inculcate now? — what practical eflects 
upon the heart and conduct of my child is this lesson in- 
tended to produce ?" To ask a young child such questions 
as, " Who was the first man ?" '* Who was the oldest 
man ?" " Who slew Goliath ?" may be giving him lessons 
in pronunciation, but it is not giving him religious instruc- 
tion. It may teach him to articulate, or it may strengthen 
his memory, but is doing little or nothing to promote his 
piety. I would not be understood to condemn such ques- 
tions. I only wish that parents may understand their true 
nature. If the real or supposed dexterity of the child in 
answering them is not made the occasion of showing him 



EARLY PIETY. 159 

off before company — thus ihey cherish vanity and self- 
conceit — it may be well thus to exercise the memory ; and 
some facts which will be useful hereafter may be fixed in 
this way. But it must not be considered as religious in- 
struction : it has not in any degree the nature of religious 
instruction. 

What then is the kind of instruction which is to be given 
from the Bible ? I will illustrate the method by supposing 
a case which may bring the proper principles to view. You 
will imagine the child to be two or three years old. 

'' Come," says its mother ; '• come to me, and I will 
read you a story." It is Sabbath afternoon, we will sup- 
pose ; the mind of the child is not preoccupied by any 
other interest. 

*' Sometimes," continued the mother, *'I tell you stories 
to amuse you. But I am not going to do that now. It is 
to do you good. Do you understand how it will do you 
good to hear a story ?" 

** No, mother." 

" Well, you will see. It is the story of Cain and Abel. 
Do you know any thing about it?" 

** Yes ; Cain killed Abel." 

'' Do you know why he killed him ?" 

'' Because he was wicked." 

*' No ; I mean what did Abel do to make Cain angry 
with him ? Did you ever see anybody angry ? Were 
you ever angry yourself?" 

*' Yes, mother." 

'* And I suppose you had some cause for it. Now, I 
will read the account, and see whether you can tell what 
made Cain angry. — 'And Cain brought of the fruit of the 
ground an offering unto the Lord.' Do you know what 
the fruit of the ground is ?" 

'' No, mother." 

" It means any thing which grows out of the ground. 
Cain was a farmer ; he planted seeds, and gathered the 
fruits which grew from them, and he brought some of them 
to offer them to God. 'And Abel brought of the firstlings 
of his flock.' Do you know what that means ?" 

The child hesitates. 

"Abel did not cultivate the ground like Cain. He had 
great flocks of sheep and goats, and he brought some of 



160 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the best of those to offer to God. So that you see that 
Cain and Abel did almost exactly the same thing. 

'' Now, God does not notice merely what we do, but 
how we feel while we are doing it. If I should ask you 
to go and shut the door when you are busy, and if you 
should go immediately, but feel ill-humoured, God would 
be displeased. He looks at the heart. Do you ever feel 
ill-humoured when I wish you to do what you dislike ?" 

** Yes ; sometimes." 

** Now Cain, I suppose, did not feel pleasantly when he 
brought his offering, and God was dissatisfied with him. 
But God was pleased with Abel's offering, and accepted it. 
Should you have thought that Cain would have liked 
this ?" 

*' No ; did he like it ?" 

'* No, he did not. He was very much displeased ; and 
it is very remarkable that he was displeased, not only 
against God, but he was angry with his brother, who had 
not done him the least wrong. That is the way with us 
all. If you should do wrong and your sister do right, and 
I should blame you and praise her, you would be tempted 
to feel angry with her, just because she h:id been so happy 
as to do her duty. How wicked such a feeling is ! 

** Cain, however, had that feeling, and little children 
have it very often. It shows itself in different ways. 
Cain, being a strong man, rose against his brother in the 
field and killed him. But young children who are weak 
and small would only strike each other, or say unkind 
things to one another. Now God is displeased with us 
when we have these feelings, whether we show them by 
unkind words, or by cruel violence. There is a particular 
verse in the Bible which shows this. Should you like to 
have me find it ?" 

*' Yes, mother." 

*'I will find it, then. It is in Matt. v. 22. Our Saviour 
says it. It is this : — * Whosoever is angry with his bro- 
ther without a cause, shall be in danger of the judgment; 
and whosoever shall say. Thou fool, shall be in danger of 
hell-fire.' This is not the whole of the verse: I will ex- 
plain the other part some other time." 

The reader will perceive at once that the kind of instruc- 
tion here exemplified, consists in drawing out the moral 
lesson which the passage is intended to teach, and in giving 



EARLY PIETY. 161 

it direct and practical application to the circumstances and 
temptations of the ciiild.'*^' 

Go on in this way as your child advances through its 
earlier years ; inculcating, thus practically, the truths and 
doctrines of the gospel, by making each one a comment 
upon some portions of its own little history. Aim espe- 
cially to make the feelings of the heart keep pace with the 
advance of the understanding. Judicious efforts of this 
kind God w^ill bless, by leading the heart of the little one 
who is the subject of them to daily habits of communion 
with him. Christian influence is increasing its power over 
the young. Every year is carrying the banner of piety 
nearer and nearer towards the earlier years of human life, 
and it is not impossible that it may hereafter be proved, 
that there is not a single hour in the whole existence of a 
human soul, so favourable to its conversion, as the hour 
when it is first able to understand that there is a God ia 
heaven to whom it is accountable. 



PART SECOND. 

TWO CASES OF EARLY PIETY. 

BY WILLIAM S. PLUMER, D. D. 

The first is the case of Ann Maria Henry, who died at 
Ballston, N. Y., aged eleven years and nine months. She 

* Parents ought at such times to make ingenious efforts to learn what 
thoughts and feelings are passing in the minds of children ; for some- 
times the whole tone and manner of the instruction is to be modified by 
it. Draw the pupil if possible into conversation. Encourage his ques- 
tion, and try by every means to get a clue at the train of thoughts pass- 
ing in his mind. The following anecdote illustrates the great diversity 
of emotion which is produced in ditferent minds by the same narrative : 
Two children were looking at a picture of the murder by Cain. Abel's 
crook was lying upon the ground. After contemplating it a moment 
in silence, one says, with a thoughtful and serious expression of coun- 
tenance, " I wonder if God could have made Cain as good a man as 
Abel, if he had wished." Another pause — and then the other said, 
shaking his head, and throwing into his countenance a look of stern 
defiance, "Ah, if I had been Abel, and could have got hold of that stick, 
I would have laid it upon Cain well." How entirely different now the 
course of remark judiciously adapted to the condition of the latter mind, 
from that wliich would be suitable to the former. 



162 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Was the daughter of the late Rev. Thomas Charlton Henry, 
D. D., of Charleston, South Carolina. 

In the character, life, and death of this young disciple 
of the Lord Jesus, there was much of deep and peculiar 
interest. The subject of many and fervent prayers, and 
trained in the nurture of the Lord, she with the first deve- 
lopments of an early mind gave evidence of being a child 
of grace. 

She looked forward to the ensuing communion Sabbath 
with an earnest desire and joyful anticipation of uniting 
herself in a personal profession with the church. From 
this she was prevented only by her last illness. Li relation 
to it she remarked, " I am providentially prevented. It is 
a subject on which I feel so deeply that I cannot dwell 
upon it ; I cannot speak of it." 

It is an interesting fact in her history, that from early 
childhood she manifested the deepest interest in the cause 
of Christian missions. All information in relation to their 
state and progress she sought with eagerness ; her heart 
was especially drawn out in prayer to God for the conver- 
sion of the heathen world. At her own instance she 
adopted a system of self-denial in relation to certain articles 
with which she had been indulged, asking the privilege of 
appropriating to that cause the avails thus saved. And, 
though well informed in relation to the privations and hard- 
ships of the missionary life, she fondly cherished the hope 
of herself going as a missionary to the heathen. 

In her last illness and death, though her bodily sufferings 
were intense, her patience in enduring them was signally 
exemplary, and her submission to the Divine will entire. 
On one occasion, lying apparently in meditation, she, with 
strong energy of expression and manner, said, *' I do sub- 
mit — I have wholly submitted in this sickness to the will 
of God." On another occasion she said to one of her phy- 
sicians, ** Doctor, I want you to tell me exactly what you 
think of my case ; I am willing, I am ready to die at any 
moment." 

On the physician replying that there \vas no probability 
of her recovery, that he did not expect it, a smile of unmin- 
gled satisfaction played over her features. At another time, 
in reply to an inquiry on the subject, she said, 

" Sweet to lie passive in his handi 
And know no will but his.** 



EARLY PIETY. 163 

And at another ; ** I am willing to live, and I am willing to 
die ; and I am willing to suffer pain, or any thing that will 
be for the glory of God." At another time she spon- 
taneously said to her mother, ** I should be disappointed if 
I should not die. But I would have no will of my own. 
I would have it ordered for the glory of God ;" and with 
an emphasis and energy of manner which marked all that 
she said on these subjects, she added, '* If I live, may I live 
to his glory; and if I die, may I die to his glory." 

She had a very strong '* desire to depart and to be with 
Christ." The only thing which gave her any wish to live, 
was concern for the bereavement of her mother. Filial 
affection was one of the most strongly marked traits of her 
character in life. On returning from the interment of her 
lamented father, she, then a child of only six years old, 
repaired to the room of her bereaved mother, and as she 
entered, fixing her eyes steadily on her, approached her, 
and with an unfaltering voice, and a dignity of manner 
almost inconceivable in a child so young, while her own 
eyes were filled with tears, said, '' Mamma, do not weep, 
I will be a comfort to you." And well did she redeem the 
pledge thus nobly given. This beautiful and lovely feature 
of character, under the improving power of sanctifying 
grace, gained strength in death. At one time, being asked 
by a friend who watched by her bedside, if she was re- 
signed to her sickness, she said, " If I knew I were to die 
this night I could not shed one tear. Were I to cast a look 
behind, it w^ould be for my mother." At another time she 
said to her mother, " How sweet — how delightful would it 
be, if we could go to heaven together. But, mamma, we 
must wait God's time. His time is the best. We shall 
soon meet again ;" and asked, " Mamma, do you feel will- 
ing to give me up ?" On her mother's replying in the 
affirmative, she with transport said, **0, I am so happy, 
for I am so anxious to go to heaven!" Her mother with- 
drawing from the room in tears, a sudden change passed 
over her before joyful and heavenly countenance, indicating 
the deepest distress, and even anguish of soul. A friend 
observed, "Anna, something seems to oppress your mind ; 
be frank and say what it is." She replied with a deep 
sigh, ** If any thing distresses me," with emphasis repeat- 
ing, '•^ if any thing distresses me, it is for my mother. I 
said a moment since that I wished to die : but I would live 



164 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

for my mother." At another lime she remarked to her 
uncle, that during the first week of her illness she had felt 
great anxiety for her mother. On his replying, '' If God 
sees fit to remove you, he will take care of your mother ;" 
she said with great earnestness, " O, uncle, please tell dear- 
est mother that,^^ repeating, ^' tell her thal,''^ 

The day but one before her death, the family were assem- 
bled in her room to witness her dissolution, which was then 
supposed to be near. While suffering intense pain of body, 
and unable to converse, her countenance assumed a most 
heavenly expression. She continued to smile unceasingly, 
for an hour and a half, on her mother, her little brother, 
and occasionally on other friends who surrounded her bed. 
During this time one remark only she uttered : " / am 
happy, just as happy as I can 5e." 

Her dissolution was eminently peaceful and joyous. 
This appearing at hand, her mother said, *' I commit you 
into the hands of Jesus." She embraced her mother in 
her arms, and would have so died, but for the interposition 
of friends, to allow the inspiration of air. In a moment 
she was at rest. 

Mary Frances Huntington, the oldest daughter of M. P. 
and S. Huntington, was the first subject of infant bap- 
tism, about six years ago, in the church in Milton, North 
Carolina. She was truly an interesting and intelligent 
child. At her death, she was not quite ten years old. 
She had attended constantly, for several years, the Sab- 
bath-school, of which she was very fond. But the facts 
to be narrated occurred principally within the last three 
months of her life. 

During a protracted meeting in the month of October 
last, in the neighbourhood, she was first observed to be 
unusually interested and manifestly affected on the subject 
of religion. This personal concern for the salvation of her 
soul was evinced by her marked readiness and anxious 
fondness to attend all the meetings. Whilst other little 
girls of her age were grouping together for amusement, she 
was seeking instruction in some religious circle or exercise, 
with the seriousness and solemnity of mature age. On 
several occasions she expressed herself, after the meeting 



EARLY PIETY. 165 

had closed, as having felt very anxious to attend the inquiry 
meetings — but did not, because being so young, she did not 
know whether it was proper or not. 

And at the close of the meeting, when Christians were re- 
quested to stand and sing the 375th of the Village Hymns — 

" Awake and sing the song 
Of Moses and the Lamb," &c. 

little Fanny was observed to stand and sing with high re- 
lish and devout animation. Although her friends were quite 
at a loss to know exactly what to think, or what use to 
make of these things, yet they laid them up and pondered 
them in their hearts. 

Some three or four weeks after this she expressed her- 
self, in a conversation with one of her classmates, with 
whom she was most intimate, as entertaining the hope of 
having become a Christian — referring to the protracted 
meeting as the time and occasion when she embraced that 
hope — and solemnl}^ enjoining secrecy, on the ground that 
she was so young that she might be mistaken, and that she 
wished to be sure before she made it known. From tliis 
time till the commencement of her sickness it was noticed, 
not only by her parents, but others who were frequently 
with her, that she was unusually serious and retiring, re- 
markably affectionate and dutiful, and conscientiously at- 
tentive to religious exercises. The writer of this little 
narrative has been struck with her devout and marked 
attention under preaching, where he has seen her hanging 
on his lips with a tearful eye and solemn countenance. 

On Sabbath night before she was taken sick — ^just one 
week previous to her death, she was overheard talking 
to her two younger brothers respecting their manner of 
saying their prayers. Among other things, she was heard 
to tell them that she was afraid that they did not think 
of God, or of the meaning of their words when they 
prayed. After thus addressing them for some time, she 
took them into a private room, and all of them kneeling, 
she prayed with them aloud, and for them in particular. 
The next evening she was taken ill of the scarlet fever, at 
the house of her grandfather, in the same village in which 
her father lives. 

From the commencement of her sickness she seemed to 
forebode, even to a degree distressing to her friends, tliat 



166 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

she would never recover. When any one spoke of what 
would be done lohen she got well, she would very frequently 
correct the expression, and say, *'i/*I get well." And she 
herself constantly used the term if, when speaking of her 
recovery. On several occasions during her illness, and en- 
tirely of her own accord, she spoke in terms of the strongest 
regret that she had wasted so much time and money in the 
use of dolls ; saying, with solemn emphasis — '' if it was to 
do again, I would not do so." She cautioned also several 
little girls with whom she was intimate, against playing so 
much with dolls, as sinful, and painful to the conscience. 

A day or two before her disease came to a crisis, she said 
to her mother, *' Mother, why don't you talk to me about 
God and about dying? Don't you know that I shall die to- 
night?" Her mother, very much affected, and suffused 
with tears, was at first unable to speak ; but soon replied — 
'* I don't know that you will die, and I hope you will not, 
to-night." She answered, " Yes, I shall ; but don't cry, 
I have a hope." Soon after this, she was told that the 
doctor had given her up, and had said that she could not 
live. The information, though perfectly understood, seemed 
to produce no alarm whatever, nor even the slightest excite- 
ment ; on the contrary, it seemed to be rather acceptable ; 
for, after a considerative pause, she sweetly and placidly 
replied, *' Well, I don't care — I would as soon die as live — 
I shall be far better off in heaven." She was asked if she 
wished to go home ; (to her father's ;) she replied, " I should 
like to go home ; but it is no matter — I shall soon be at my 
heavenly Father's home." When she saw two of her young 
companions and classmates present, she requested to be 
left with them alone. When her request was complied 
with, she called them by name, and exhorted them, at some 
length, to prepare for death, to pray, to love and obey the 
Saviour, &c. As she approached her end, when she saw 
her doting parents and friends weeping around iter, she 
frequently said to them, '* Don't weep for me, but meet me 
in heaven." 

On Sabbath, her last Sabbath on earth, she took leave of 
her parents, grandparents, and other friends present, call- 
ing each one by name, and requesting them to kiss her. In 
the afternoon her tutoress asked her if she remembered 
little Jane ^ '* Yes," was her reply, *'and little Susan 
too." ** Jane, you know," said her tutoress, *' when she 



EARLY PIETY. 167 

was afflicted, could put her trust in Christ ; can you do 
so ?" ** O yes," was her reply, with animated emphasis. 
About dusk, the minister asked her, among other things, 
*' Do you love the Saviour, Fanny ; do you want to see 
Him ; can you trust yourself with Him ?" With unhesi- 
tating promptness, emphatic earnestness, and a brightening 
countenance, she replied, '*0 Fes T' "0 Fes T' Her fa- 
ther, being overcome on hearing her answer, wept aloud. 
She turned her head, looked at him, and said, with peculiar 
sweetness of manner, *' Don't cry, papa, don't cry." After 
this she became insensible, and about 12 o'clock expired, 
it is hoped, in the arms of Him who said, '^ Suffer little 
children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such 
is the kingdom of heaven." 



CASE OF LITTLE JAMES. 
BY REV. JOHN TODD. 

A FEW years since, a man and his wife arrived in the 

town of M , N. Y., as permanent residents. They 

were young, lately married, and their prospects for the fu- 
ture were bright and cheering. They purchased a farm in 

M , which was then a new country, and had happily 

spent two or three years in this situation, when, by a mys- 
terious providence, the young man was called from this 
world. With his surviving widow, he left two lovely twin 
infants, to deplore a loss which time could not retrieve. The 
widow sought comfort in vain from the limited circle of her 
acquaintance. There was no minister of the gospel in that 
region to direct her to the great source of comfort, nor was 
there a pious friend who could direct her trembling foot- 
steps to the cross of Jesus. But she went to her Bible, 
and by the assistance of the Spirit of truth, found that con- 
solation which a selfish world can neither bestow nor taste. 
She mourned indeed a husband who was no more, but she 
was cheered by the hope that God would protect her and 
hers. She wept over her innocent babes, and resolved that 
while she lived, they should never need a mother's care. As 
they grew up, she endeavoured to teach them the first prin- 



168 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ciples of religion, but they received only her instructions. 
One week after another rolled away,- — one JSabbath after 
another dawned upon the wilderness, but they brought none 
of its privileges. The wilderness had never echoed with 
the sound of the church-going bell. The solitary places 
had never been gladdened by the sound of the footsteps of 
him v/ho proclaims glad tidings of great joy. The feeling 
mother clasped her little boys to her aching bosom, and 
sighed and wept for the opportunity of taking them by the 
hand, and leading them up to the courts of God. In the 
days of her childhood she had possessed great advantages, 
and she now mourned that her babes could only receive 
instruction from her lips. Alas ! no man of God came to 
instruct, — to cheer, — to gladden the bosom of her who, for 
years, had never heard the whispers of love from the ser- 
vants of her Saviour. When the little boys were five years 
old, and before they were old enough to be sensible of their 
loss, a consumption had fastened upon their tender parent, 
and she was soon encircled in the cold arms of death. She 
steadily watched the certain issue of her disease, and even 
in her last moments, commended her children to Him who 
is*' a Father to the fatherless." A few moments before 
she expired, she kissed her little boys, who wept, almost 
without knowing why, on feeling the last grasp of the clay 
cold hand of their mother. ** It is hard," said she to a 
neighbour who was present, *' it is hard for a mother to 
leave two such helpless babes without friends, and without 
any one to protect them ; but I leave them in the hands of 
God, and I do believe he will protect them. My last prayer 
shall be for my poor, destitute orphans." 

After the death of their mother they were received into 
the house of a neighbour, a poor widow. In less than a 
year, one of them was stretched beside his mother beneath 
the sods. 

About this time a pious young lady arrived in the place. 
She too was an orphan, but was not comfortless. It was 
her first inquiry how she could do good to the spiritually 
destitute villagers around her. 

In the course of one of her afternoon walks, she met a 
little boy straggling by the side of the road. There was a 
something in his countenance which excited interest at once, 
though he was exceedingly ragged. The young lady was 



EARLY PIETr. 169 

Struck with his appearance,' and immediately entered into 
conversation with him. 

'* What is your name, my little boy ?" said she, gently. 

"James." 

" Where do you live ?" 

" With widow Parker, just in the edge of the wood, 
there, in that little loghouse ; can't you see it?" 

" I see it ; but is widow Parker your mother ?" 

" No : I had a mother la^t year, and she loved me. She 
used to take care of me and of my brother John, She 
made our clothes, and taught us to say our prayers and 
catechisms. O ! she was a most good mother." 

" But where is your mother ?" said the lady, as sooth- 
ingly as possible. 

'' O ! madam, she is dead ! Do you see that graveyard 
yonder?" 

*'Yes." 

** And the great maple tree which stands in the further 
corner of it." 

*' Yes, I see it." 

" Well, my poor mother was buried under that tree, and 
my brother John lies there too. They were both buried 
deep in the ground, though my mother's grave was the deep- 
est. I shall never see them again, never, never, as long as 
Hive. Will you go with me and see the graves?" con- 
tinued he, looking at the lady with great earnestness and sim- 
plicity. 

The sliort account which the little boy gave of himself 
awakened the best feelings of the young lady, and she had 
been devising some plan by which to do him good. For 
the present, she declined visiting the grave, but continued 
to converse with him, and to gain his confidence. She 
found him very ignorant, having never been at school, and 
the instructions of his pious mother, not having her to re- 
peat and enforce them by precept and example, were nearly 
forgotten. 

A Sabbath-school had never been established in the place, 
and whether it was practicable to establish one, was doubt- 
ful ; but she was determined to make the experiment. Ac- 
cordingly, she visited every little cottage in the village, and 
urged that the children might be assembled on the next 
Lord's day, and a school formed. A proposal of this kind 
was new, was from a new-comer, and was unpopular. All 

15 



170 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the old women in the place entered their protest against 
such innovations. For the first three Sabbaths, the young 
lady had no other scholar besides her little James. But 
she had already been taught, that however faint our pros- 
pects of doing good at first may be, we should not be dis- 
couraged. Our labour may not be lost, though the first 
blow may not produce much effect. She was sorry that 
she had so few scholars, but she bent all her energies to 
the instruction of her little boy, and afterwards felt that Pro- 
vidence had ordered it wisely. 

But in a few weeks the prejudices of the people began 
to wear away, and before the summer closed, this school 
embraced every child whose age would allow it to attend. 

It v/as the second summer after the establishment of this 
school, and after little James had become well acquainted 
with his Testament and catechism, that his health also be- 
gan to fail. This good young lady beheld his gradual de- 
cay with anxiety, visited him frequently, and always wept 
after having left him. She used often to walk out with 
him, and to endeavour to cheer him by her conversation. 

One pleasant afternoon she led him out by the hand, and 
at his request visited the spot where lay his mother and lit- 
tle brother. Their graves were both covered with grass, 
and on the smaller grave were some beautiful flowerets. It 
was in the cool of a serene summer's day, as they sat by 
the graves in silence ; neither of them feeling like speak- 
ing. The lady gazed at the pale countenance of the litde 
boy, upon whose system a lingering disease was preying, 
while he looked at her with an eye that seemed to say, " I 
have not long to enjoy your society." Without saying a 
word, he cut a small stick, and measured the exact length 
of his little brother's grave, and again seated himself by 
the lady. She appeared sad while he calmly addressed 
her. 

'' You see, Miss S , that this little grave is shorter 

than mine will be." 

She pressed his litde bony hand within her own, and 
he continued — 

'* You know not how much I love you — how much I 
thank you. Before you taught me, I knew nothing of 
death — nothing about heaven, or God, or angels ; I was a 
very wicked boy till you met me. I love you much, very 
much, but I would say — something else" — 



EARLY PIETY. 171 

*And what would you say, James ?" inquired the lady, 
trying to compose her own feelings. 

** Do you think I shall ever get well ?" 

*' Indeed I hope you will ; but why ask that question ?" 

" Because I feel I shall not live long — I believe I shall 
soon die — I shall then be laid beside my poor mother — and 
she will then have her two little boys — one on each side 
of her. But do not cry, Miss S., I am not afraid to die. 
You told me, and the Testament tells me, that Christ will 
suffer little children to come unto him ; and though I know 
I am a very sinful little boy, yet I think I shall be happy, 
for I love this Saviour who can save such a wicked boy as 
I am. And I sometimes think I shall soon meet mother 
and little brother in happiness. I know you will come 
too, won't you? When I am dead I wish you to tell the 
Sabbath scholars how much I loved them all — tell them 
they must all die, and may die soon, and tell them to come 
and measure the grave of little James ; and then prepare 
to die." 

The young lady wept, and could not answer him at 
tliat time. But she was enabled to converse with him 
many times afterwards on the grounds of his hope, and 
was satisfied that this little lamb was indeed of the fold of 
Jesus. She was sitting at his bedside, and with her own 
trembling hand closed his lovely eyes as they shut in the 
slumbers of death. He fell asleep with a smile, without a 
struggle. The lady was the only sincere mourner who 
followed the remains of the child to the grave ; and while 
she shed many tears over that grave which concealed his 
lovely form, she could not but rejoice in the belief that God 
had permitted her to be the feeble instrument of preparing 
an immortal spirit for a mansion in the skies, where the 
wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest. • 



172 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

PART THIRD. 

THE DUTY AND MOTIVES OF EARLY PIETY. 
A SERMON, BY THE REV. ADAM GUN, A. M., 

OF THE ESTABLISHED SCOTCH CHURCH, GLASGOW. 

^^Early will I seek iheer — Ps. Ixxiii. 1. 

You know, little children, who spake these words. It 
was David, the king of Israel. Though he was a great 
king, and had many things to occupy his attention, he yet 
considered God to be the chief object of his desire. He 
could not be happy without God. But you know the Lord 
is a great God, and Jo be feared and had in reverence of all 
that draw near unto him ; and, therefore, you must seek 
God through the Lord Jesus Christ. When John the 
Baptist saw Jesus, he pointed him out to his disciples as 
the " Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the 
world." John i. 29. 36. And when his disciples heard 
this, they followed Jesus. Jesus turned and saw them 
following him, and said unto them, (v. 38,) " What seek 
ye?" Now, David and John's disciples were seeking the 
same thing ; for sinners, as we are, cannot approach the 
glorious presence of Jehovah but as he is revealed in the 
Saviour. 

Some of you little children may be inclined to ask, 

I. Why you should seek Christ? 

You know that the Lord Jesus Christ is a very glorious 
Being. He is adorned v/ith all the perfections of God. 
He is the chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely. 
He is the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express 
image of his person. He is called in Scripture " the pearl 
of great price" — that is, nothing is so valuable in heaven 
or earth, as to be compared with Jesus. He is God's 
** unspeakable gift," and men or angels cannot rehearse his 
excellencies. He is " the day-star from on high, and the 
Sun of righteousness," from whom proceed light and 
warmth, and every comfort and blessing. 

And what are some of those blessings which God is 
ready to bestow on those who seek Clirist? 

I. The pardon of sin. 

Every one of us, young and old, needs to have his ini- 



EARLY PIETY. 173 

quities blotted out. The word of God informs us that we 
are born in sin, and brought forth in iniquity; we are the 
children of wrath, and liable to destruction. You know 
that when God destroyed the people of the old world, be- 
cause their wickedness was great on the face of the earth, 
little children like you were drowned, along with their 
parents and friends ; and this shows us that little children 
are sinners as well as others ; for God, who is a just God, 
would not punish them if they were not guilty. And if 
you think on your own hearts, and consider your own con- 
duct, do you not feel that you do many things which are 
wrong ? Have you not been thinking your own thoughts, 
and speaking your own words, and doing your own works 
on this holy Sabbath ? This is sin, and you need to be 
forgiven your iniquity. How much should you and I desire 
to obtain the happiness of which David speaks in the 32d 
psalm ! " Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, 
whose sin is covered. Blessed is the man unto whom the 
Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no 
guile." 

We can do nothing for ourselves. I will tell you a story 
about the Rev. David Dickson, a good minister, that was 
once in Edinburgh. Being asked, when on his death-bed, 
how he found himself, he answered, ** I have taken my 
good deeds and bad deeds, and thrown them together in a 
heap, and fled from them both to Christ, and in him I have 
peace." He felt that he could do nothing for himself. 
When he inquired, like the prophet Micah, (vi. 6, 7,) 
*' Wherewith shall I come before the Lord, and bow my- 
self before the high God ? shall I come before him with 
burnt-offerings, with calves of a year old ? Will the Lord 
be pleased with thousands of rams, or with ten thousands 
of rivers of oil ? shall I give my first-born for my trans- 
gression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul ?" — 
lie found that none of these things could be of any avail. 
*' There is no name given under heaven among men by 
which we can be saved, but the name of Christ." I read 
lately of a certain man on the Malabar coast, who had 
inquired of various devotees and priests, how he might 
make atonement for his sins ; and he was directed to drive 
iron spikes, sufficiently blunted, through his sandals, and 
on these spikes he was directed to place his naked feet, 
and to walk about 480 miles. If, through loss of blood, 

15^ 



174 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

or weakness of body, he was obliged to halt, he might w^ait 
for healing and strength. He undertook the journey, (for 
what will not a person awakened to a sense of sin attempt, 
to get rid of the burden of it,) and while he halted under a 
large sliady tree, where the gosp^l was sometimes preached, 
one of the missionaries came and preached in his hearing, 
from tliese words : ** The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth 
from all sin." Wliile he was preaching, the man rose up, 
threw off his torturing sandals, and cried out aloud, " This 
is what I want;" and he became a lively witness that tlie 
blood of Jesus cleanseth from all sin. And, little children, 
wliat peace, and comfort, and hope, and joy, does it pro- 
duce in the mind, even in the most distressing circum- 
stances I I have read about a dying soldier and a dying 
officer. The soldier w^as wounded at the battle of Water- 
loo, and carried by his companion to some distance, and 
laid down at the foot of a tree, where his companion, at 
his request, read to him a few verses of the Bible, upon 
which he said, '* I die liappy, for I possess the peace of 
God, which passeth all understanding." A little while 
after, one of the officers passed him, and, seeing him in a 
very exhausted state, asked him how he did. He answered 
him as he said formerly to his companion, and then expired. 
The officer was soon after mortally wounded, and when 
surrounded by his brother officers, full of anguish and dis- 
may, he cried out, '' O ! I would give ten thousand worlds 
that I possessed that peace w'hich gladdened the heart of 
the dying soldier whom I saw lying under the tree. I 
know nothing of this peace ! I die miserable ! for 1 die in 
despair !" 

Now, little children, you must seek Jesus, that you may 
have your sins forgiven, and that you may live at peace 
with God, and die in safety and in happiness. 

2. Another blessing w^hich Christ gives, and for which 
you shotild seek him, is holiness. 

You know, little children, that God is *' glorious in holi- 
ness," and that he says to each of us, ''O do not that 
-abominable thing which my soul hateth !" We are in his 
sight *' altogether as an unclean thing." Our hearts are full 
of malice, and pride, and impurity. We require that God 
Avould create in us a clean heart, and renew a right spirit 
within us. Now, Christ cleanseth the souls of those that 
come to the fountain which has been opened for sin and 



EARLY riETY. 175 

uncleanness ; and his Holy Spirit is sent to sanctify the 
soul. The people of God who, like the Corinthians, have 
been " washed, and justified, and sanctified, in the name 
of the Lord Jesus Christ, and by the Spirit of our God," 
are able to sing *' unto Him that loved us, and hath washed 
lis from our sins in his own blood." When a person is 
brought, like the apostle Paul, to glory in nothing but in 
the cross of the Lord Jesus Christ, the world is thereby 
crucified unto him, and he is crucified unto the world. I 
will tell you a story on this subject. Mr. Marshall, author 
of the " Gospel Mystery of Sanctification," having been 
for several years under distress of mind, consulted Dr. 
Goodwin, an eminent divine, giving him an account of the 
state of his soul, and particularizing his sins, which lay 
heavy on his conscience. In reply, he told him he had 
forgot to mention the greatest sin of all — the sin of unbe- 
lief, in not believing on the Lord Jesus Christ, for the re- 
mission of his sins, and for sanctifying his nature. On 
this, he set himself to the studying and preaching Christ, 
and attained to eminent holiness, great peace of conscience, 
and joy in the Holy Ghost. 

If you, litde children, wish to be made holy, as God is 
holy, that God may have pleasure in seeing you, as olive 
plants trained up beside the water courses, you must seek 
Christ, and wait on him for his Spirit, to sprinkle you with 
his peace-speaking and purifying blood. You have great 
need of being made holy, and it is a difficult thing to make 
you holy. You know it is a difficult thing to break the 
hard flinty rock. Now your hearts are compared, in Scrip- 
ture, to the adamant and to the nether millstone ; and the 
more holy you become, the more you will feel your want 
of holiness. I will tell you what Mr. Newton, an excel- 
lent minister, once said when reading the text, " By the 
grace of God, I am what I am." He said, *'I am not what 
I ought to be. Ah ! how imperfect and deficient ! I am 
not what I icish to be ; but I abhor what is evil, and would 
cleave to that which is good ! I am not what I hope to be ; 
soon, soon I shall put off mortality, and with it all sin and 
imperfection. Yet, though I am not what I ought to be, 
nor what I loish to be, nor what I hope to be, I can truly 
say I am not what I once was — a slave to sin and Satan ; 
and I can heartily join with the apostle, and acknowledge, 
* By the grace of God, I am what I am !' " 



176 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

3. The only other blessing which I shall now mention, 
that you shall get by seeking Christ, is, eternal life in 
heaven. 

It is said, in one of the psalms, *' The Lord is a sun and 
shield ; he will give grace and glory." He gives grace here, 
in forgiving the sins of those who seek him, and, by the pow- 
er of his grace, he subdues sin in the soul ; and he will give 
glory hereafter, in bringing every one of those, whom he par- 
dons and purifies, to heaven, to be ever in the presence and 
enjoying the favour of God. He is saying to you now, 
" Com.e out from among them, and be ye separate, and 
touch not the unclean thing ; and I will be a father unto you, 
and ye shall be my sons and my daughters, saith the Lord 
Almighty." You know that Moses, though adopted into the 
family of Pharoah's daughter, and exalted to the honours of 
Pharoah's kingdom, preferred joining himself to the Lord's 
people, and to suffer affliction with them, than to enjoy all 
the treasures of Egypt, and all the pleasures of sin for a 
season, that he might have the dignity of being numbered 
among the children of God ; and we read that he did so 
because " he had respect to the recompense of reward." 

You know, little children, that there are only two places 
beyond the grave, to one or other of which we must all go. 
When Christ was on the cross, there were two thieves 
crucified, one on either side of him ; one of them repented 
of his sins, and applied for help to Christ, saying, '' Lord, 
remember me when thou comest to thy kingdom ;" and the 
Lord answered him graciously : " This night shalt thou be 
with me in paradise." Had not he felt his sin, and applied 
to Christ, and obtained mercy, what would have become 
of him ? He would have shared the fate of the impenitent 
thief, in being abandoned to destruction ; as soon as death 
arrived, he, like the rich man of whom we read, would 
" lift up his eyes in hell, being in torment," instead of 
being, like Lazarus, carried to Abraham's bosom by the 
angels of God. 

Little children, it is a fearful thing to fall into the hands 
of the living God. God is a consuming fire to all who do 
not seek him in Christ Jesus. The wrath of God abideth 
on each of us, unless freed from it by Christ. You can 
know somewhat of the dreadful effects of God's curse. 
You remember that once Christ, when hungry, passed by a 
fig-tree, upon which there was no fruit, and Christ cursed 



EARLY PIETY. 177 

the tree, and it whliered away. How terrible if the wrath 
of Christ should fall on us ! You have heard that the devils 
in hell were once angels in heaven ; but, as soon as they 
sinned against God, his wrath was poured upon them. 
And, O ! what a change took place on them ! They were 
cast into that lake of fire and brimstone, which was then 
prepared for the devil and his angels, and the wicked people 
who will not seek Christ to *' deliver them from the wrath 
to come." " The wages of sin is death, but the gift of 
God is eternal life in Christ Jesus." A little boy, on his 
death-bed, was asked where he was going ? He answered, 
to heaven. Being farther asked why he wished to go there? 
he answered, because Christ is there. And being again 
asked what he would do if Christ should leave heaven ? 
he replied, I will go with him whithersoever he goeth. 

These, my young friends, are gifts worth the seeking, 
and I hope some of you have been excited to inquire, 

H. Hoio you are to seek Christ, so as to find him. 

1. You must believe in Christ: "Without faith it is im- 
possible to please God." 

Some of you know the question of the Shorter Catechism. 
** What is faith in Jesus Christ? Faith in Jesus Christ is a 
saving grace whereby we receive and rest upon him alone 
for salvation, as he is offered to us in the gospel." You 
must believe all that is said in the Scriptures about Christ, 
who is " able to save them to the uttermost, who come unto 
God by him." You must feel your need of Christ, and 
believe in him to the saving of your souls. I will tell you 
a very pretty story from which you may learn the nature 
of faith. " Children," says Cecil, '' are capable of very 
early impressions. I imprinted on my daughter the idea of 
faith, at a very early age. She was playing one day with 
a few beads, which seemed wonderfully to delight her. 
Her whole soul was absorbed in her beads, I said, ' My 
dear, you have some pretty beads there.' ' Yes, papa.' 
' And you seem vastly pleased with them. Well, now, 
throw them behind the fire.' The tears started into her 
eyes ; she looked earnestly at me, as if she ought to have 
a reason for so cruel a sacrifice. ' Well, my dear, do as 
you please : but you know, I never told you to do any thing 
which I did not think would be for your good.' She looked 
at me a few moments longer, and then summoning up all 
her fortitude, her breast heaving with the effort, she 



178 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

dashed them into the fire. ' Well,' said T, * there let them 
lie ; you shall hear more about them another time ; but I 
say no more of them now.' Some days after, I bought 
her a boxful of larger beads, and toys of the same kind. 
When I returned home, I opened the treasure, and set it 
before her ; she burst into tears with excessive joy. ' These, 
my child,' said I, ' are yours, because you believed me 
when I told you to throw these paltry beads behind the fire ; 
your obedience has brought you this treasure. But now, 
my dear, remember as long as you live, wh^i faith is. I did 
all this to teach you the meaning of faith. You threw your 
beads away when I bade you, because you had faith in me, 
that I never advised you but for your good. Put the same 
trust in God ; believe every thing that he says in his word. 
Whether you understand it or not, have faith in him that 
he means your good.' " 

Now, little children, remember what faith is, and put it 
in practice ; for without faith you cannot be interested in 
Christ, or have any of the blessings which are treasured up 
in him. 

2. In seeking Christ you must pray to him. 

Although God knows what we require, yet that does not 
supersede the necessity of our imploring the blessing needed 
by us. God knew what Solomon needed; but he said to 
him, " Ask what I shall give thee." When the blind beggar, 
Bartimeus, heard Christ passing by, and he cried, saying, 
*' Thou Son of David, have mercy on me," Christ knew 
well what he needed, and what he wished ; yet he put to 
him the question, '^ What wilt thou that I should do unto 
thee." Again, when the children of Israel were in the land 
of their captivity, God determined that at the end of seventy 
years they should be restored to their own country ; biit he 
said, " yet for all these things I will be inquired of by the 
house of Israel to do it unto them." 

Probably some of you, little children, and some persons 
who are grown up, may be saying that they cannot pray. 
This will be no excuse, for God has promised to instruct 
tliose who wish to be taught to pray, just as Christ taught 
his disciples to pray in those interesting words which I hope 
you all know, and which have been appropriately called 
the Lord's prayer. " Our Father which art in heaven, "<fec., 
as you will find them recorded in the sixth chapter of Mat- 
lliew, at the 9th verse. You can easily remember such a 



EARLY PIETY. 179 

prayer as that ofTerednpby the thief on the cross : ^^Lord^ 
remember me when thou com est to thy kingdom ;" or that of 
Bartimeus : " Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on 
me ;" or the prayer of the publican, when he went up with the 
Pharisee to the temple to pray : " God be merciful to me a 
sinner." I remember a story about a Hottentot who was 
under deep convictions of sin, and who did not know how 
to pray, being present at family worship at his master's 
house, was taught how to pray, by hearing the parable of 
the Pharisee and the publican read. While the prayer of 
the Pharisee was read, the poor Hottentot thought within 
himself, ''This is a good man ; here is nothing for me ;" but 
\vhen the master came to the prayer of the publican — ''God 
be merciful to me a sinner" — " This suits me," he cried ; 
" now I know how to pray ;" and he continued to put up 
that prayer until he found mercy. Prayer is the key to 
heaven. By it Elijah shut up the skies ; so that there was 
neither dew nor rain on the land for a long space of time. 
By prayer Jacob placed a ladder whose foot was on earth, 
and its top in heaven, upon which the angels of God ascend- 
ed and descended. By prayer Daniel shut the lions' mouths, 
so that they could not hurt him when he was cast into their 
den. By prayer Samson shook the Philistines' temple, and 
destroyed the idolaters it contained. By prayer Peter was 
delivered from prison, for the church interceded with God 
for him, and the angel of the Lord was sent to rescue him 
from his perilous situation. " Pray, therefore, without 
ceasing." 

3. You must seek Christ by studying the Bible, and by 
hearing the gospel preached. 

The Bible is God's book. It tells us of God and of 
Christ, and of every thing which we have to do. You 
know that the apostle Paul commended Timothy in that, 
" from a child he knew the Scriptures, which are able to 
make wise unto salvation., through faith that is in Christ 
Jesus." I will tell a story about an Irish boy who loved 
the Scriptures. He was one day going to one of the Bible 
schools, that is, a school where they are taught to read and 
to understand the Bible, for in many schools in Ireland they 
are not taught to read the Bible ; and in many schools in 
this country, they are not taught to understand it, although 
they may be able to read it. On his way to school, he was 
met by a Popish priest who was not so averse to the Scrip- 



180 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

tures as most of his brethren are. The priest asked the 
boy, what book it was which he carried under his arm ? 
*' It is a will, sir," said the boy. " What will," rejoined 
the priest. " The last will and testament that Jesus Christ 
left to me, and to all who desire to claim a title to the pro- 
perty therein bequeathed," replied the boy. " What did 
Christ leave you in that will?" "A kingdom, sir." 
"• Where does that kingdom lie ?" " It is the kingdom of 
heaven, sir." '* And do you expect to reign as a king 
there?" "Yes, sir, as joint-heir with Christ." " ilnd 
will not every person get there as well as you ?" " No, 
sir, none can get there but those that claim their title to 
that kingdom on the ground of this will." The priest 
asked several other questions, to which the boy gave such 
satisfactory answers as quite astonished him. " Indeed," 
said he, " you are a good little boy : take care of the book 
wherein God gives you such precious promises ; believe 
what he has said, and you will be happy here and hereaf- 
ter." But when you read the word of God, little children, 
remember that you cannot understand the wondrous things 
of God's law until your eyes are opened by the Spirit of 
God. You must pray to God for his Spirit to enlighten 
you in the knowledge of the Lord Jesus Christ. You re- 
member, that when Hagar and her son Ishmael were cast 
out from the house of Abraham, that the child w^as ready to 
perish for thirst, and that although there was a well of water 
near at hand, she knew not of it until the Lord sent his 
angel to point it out to her. Therefore, you must wait upon 
God for his Spirit. And when attending the house of God, 
which you should always do with your parents and friends, 
you ought to listen to what is said, as if addressed alone to 
you ; and you should be praying for an interest in what 
is declared by the minister from the Bible. The next story 
should instruct you how to act when listening to what is 
preached. A little girl once heard a minister preaching 
from the text, ''He shall feed his flock like a shepherd; 
He shall gather the lambs with his arms, and carry them 
in his bosom." Isaiah xl. 11. And when asked about the 
sermon, she said that she was wishing all the time the minister 
was preaching, that she was one of Christ's lambs. Mr. 
Patison, the minister, said to her, '' What a happy day it 
would be in Bristo Street, had all my hearers been em- 
ployed in a similar manner." 



EARLY PIETY. 181 

This is the way you are to seek Christ — ^by faith, by 
prayer, by reading and hearing God's blessed word. And, 
O ! little children, what a privilege have you in having such 
excellent teachers to inform you how you are to seek 
Christ ! But, probably, some of you little children are 
thinking that you are too young to seek Christ, and that it 
will be time enough to seek him when you get older. And 
this leads me to consider briefly, 

III, The advantage of seeking Him early, 

1. If Christ is worthy that you should seek him at all, 
the sooner you do so the better. And you are to seek him 
while he is to be found, and call on him while near» He 
is as deserving now as ever he was, or as he shall be at 
any future time. And ''''now is the accepted time." " To 
day," saith the Lord, " if ye will hear my voice, harden 
not your hearts." A time may come when he shall not be 
found though sought. You have heard of the foolish vir- 
gins, that when the Bridegroom came they were not ready 
to go with him into heaven, though earnestly wishing to 
get admission there. And you remember what is told us of 
Esau, that in consequence of having sold his birth-right, 
the blessing was also denied him, although he earnestly 
sought it with tears. Your hearts are more tender now 
than they will be after they are " hardened through the de- 
ceitfulness of sin." Delay is dangerous. Felix, when 
Paul reasoned of righteousness, temperance, and judgment 
to come, trembled, and answered, " Go thy way for this 
time ; when I have a convenient season, I will call for 
thee;" but this expected time never . arrived. And you 
know the history of the young ruler, who came to Christ, 
saying, " What shall I do to inherit eternal life ?" When 
he heard that he must leave all, and follow Christ, " he 
went away sorrowful, for he was very rich" — thus proving 
that '' the love of money is the root of all evil ;" and that 
'' it is easier for a camel to go through a needle's eye, than 
for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God ;" and 
that we should seek Christ before the mind is fully occu- 
pivod with other things, which will not easily be dislodged. 
Therefore, you must seek him early. But, 

2. Another reason for seeking him early is, that you 
may di3 very soon, and if you have found Christ, your 
friends will be comforted. 

Do vou khow, little children, that about one-third of all 
16 



182 MUSEUM OF RELiaiOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

the children born, die in infancy. Now, if you do not seek 
Christ and find him before you die, you cannot go to hea- 
ven. I remember reading a story about a little girl at Port- 
sea, who died at nine years of age ; and one day in her ill- 
ness, she said to her aunt, with whom she lived, '* When 
I am dead, I should like Mr. Griffin to preach a sermon to 
children, to persuade them to love Jesus Christ, to obey 
their parents, not to tell lies, but to think about dying and 
going to heaven." " I have been thinking," said she, 
'' what text I should like him to preach from — 2d Kings iv. 
26, You are the Shunamite, Mr. G. is the prophet, and I 
am the Shunamite's child. When I am dead, I dare say 
you will be grieved, though you need not. The prophet will 
come to see you, and when he says, ' How is it with the 
child?' you may say, Vlt is well.' I am sure it will then 
be well with me, for I shall be in heaven, singing the 
praises of God. You ought to think it well, too." Mr. G. 
accordingly fulfilled the wish of this pious child. And, 
children, if you die early, after seeking and finding Christ, 
how happy will your friends whom you have left behind 
be, in the assurance of your being blessed in heaven I 
There was once an infidel and profligate youth, who had 
disregarded the pious injunctions of his parents, but who 
one day went to hear a sermon with them. The subjsct 
of discourse was, the heavenly state ; the nature of the 
happiness, employment, and company of the spirits of just 
men made perfect, were beautifully and affectingly described. 
While the whole congregation were in ecstacy, the parents 
of this youth were in tears. When they came home, the 
son asked why they were sad during sermon, as they were 
known to be good people. The mother answered, that her 
sorrow arose from the fear, that the son of her womb and 
of her vows should be banished at last from the celestial 
paradise. This cautious admonition, sanctioned by the fa- 
ther, found its way to the youthful heart of her child, and 
issued in his conversion. 

3. The only other reason I will urge for your seeking 
Christ early, is, the increase of happiness here and here- 
after, which will be thereby secured to you. 

I never read of any one that repented of seeking Christ 
too early. You are to come to Christ for happiness. God 
says that '* wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, and 
all her paths are peace." God's favour is life, and his lov- 



EARLY PIETY. 183 

ing-kindness is better than life. Some people would lead 
you to think otherwise than the word of God says of a re- 
ligious life. Matthew Henry, the author of the excellent 
commentary on the Bible, left this as his dying testimony, 
'' that a life spent in the service of God, and communion 
with him, is the most comfortable and pleasant life that any 
one can live in the world." You know, little children, 
that sin is the cause of all the misery in the world; and 
that if you seek Christ early, you will be kept from many 
sins into which those who seek not Christ are liable to 
fall, and which, when set in order before them afterwards, 
will force these to say, " a man may bear his infirmities, 
but a wounded spirit, who can bear?" And the longer you 
have received Christ, and the greater your advances in the 
divine life, the more " meet will you be for the inheritance 
of the saints in light." The higher degree of glory you 
will be capable of receiving. We are told in the fifteenth 
chapter of 1st Corinthians, that " there is one glory of the 
sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of 
the stars, for one star differeth from another star in glory ;" 
thus intimating, that he who soweth sparingly shall reap 
sparingly, while he who soweth bountifully shall reap boun- 
tifully." Though all the inhabitants of heaven will be 
happy, we are taught to believe, that there will be compa- 
nies of the redeemed encircling the throne of God at a 
nearer and at a more remote distance ; that by divine ap- 
pointment the station on high will be assigned according to 
the progress now made in conformity to the divine image; 
that Abraham the father of the faithful, and David tl^.e man 
according to God's own heart, and John the beloved disci- 
ple of our Lord, and such as have been long in Christ, v»'ill 
be placed in a more advantageous position than the thief on 
the cross and such like, whose conversion was instantly 
succeeded by his introduction to the paradise above ; and 
that as they were here advancing from grace to grace, they 
shall, in a progressive ratio, be moving forward incalcu- 
lably from glory to glory. 



No. VIIL 
INFLUENCE OF A PRAYING MOTHER. 



The Bible begins the story of the Redeemer's mercy; 
but it is only a beginning. The whole history of redemp- 
tion can never be said to be published, till every name on 
the pages of the book of life has been read, and the leadings 
of God's mysterious providence, in regard to each one, 
have been unfolded in eternity. 

Dr. Johnson has somewhere said, that the memoir of 
any man, properly written, could not fail of being useful 
and interesting. This remark, I am confident, is correct, 
and especially so, when applied to the history of a redeemed 
sinner. And I have sometimes thouo^ht it micrht form a 
part of the employment of heaven, to receive from the lips 
of each glorified spirit a history of his life on earth ; espe- 
cially that part of it which relates to his conversion and 
sanctification ; and as these histories are more and more 
known, so much louder and sweeter will be the song, 
" Great and marvellous are thy works. Lord God xilmighty." 
My own views of the wisdom and mercy of the Saviour 
have frequently been greatly elevated by hearing individuals 
relate the dealings of God towards them. And I trust it 
will be so with the reader of the brief narrative which I 
am about to present to him. 

A few years since I was called from my study to see a 
stranger. He brought a letter from a friend in Ohio, which 
stated that he was '* a man of the right stamp." His name 
was Joseph W. Barr, then a student at tlie Theological 
Seminary at Andover. He was out of health ; had walked 
nearly thirty miles ; and there was nothing very prepossess- 
ing in his first appearance. But a few hours' acquaintance 
only was necessary to discover that he was a man of a 
strong, well-balanced mind, of deep piety, and of a breast 
full of benevolence. One great object of his visit was to 

181 



INFLUENCE OF A PRAYING MOTHER. 185 

restore his health, which had become impaired by study. 
But instead of lying upon the couch- taking gende exercise, 
and "light medicines," he hired himself out, for the vaca- 
tion, as a carpenter ; and a better, or more diligent and 
faithful workman, seldom entered the shop. He received 
high wages, and the family in which he resided can hardly 
speak of him, to this day, without tears. On leaving us, 
he carried away a good stock of health ; and more of the 
heart and good wishes, and pure substantial tokens of con- 
fidence from his Christian friends, than if he had spent his 
time in any other way. While in my study, one evening, 
I requested him to relate to me his Christian experience, 
and the dealings of God in regard to his soul. He began 
at once, and did it with such simplicity and humility tliat I 
was compelled more than once to turn away my head to 
conceal my tears. I wrote down the account just as he 
had related it, as soon as he had left me. It is not merely 
a true account of his conversion, but, as nearly as possible, 
in his own words : 

Among my first recollections is the image of my sainted 
mother. We lived at the West, in what was then a howl- 
ing wilderness, but is now the flourishing state of Olno. 
My fatlier was a minister and a missionar}^ and my mother 
was every way qualified to be his helper. My father was 
gone much from home in searching for the scattered sheep 
of Christ's fold, and could not do much towards forming 
my cliaracter. But my mother ! she was an angel to me. 
We lived in a log house, and had but one large room ; of 
course she had no closet there. But there was a beautiful 
grove a little back of the house, and there, as early as I can 
remember any thing, I can remember that slie took me by 
the hand and caused me to kneel by her side, while she 
prayed aloud for my absent father and for me. At first I 
hardly understood it; but soon learned that God, who dwelt 
far, far above those high trees, could hear her prayer, and 
was hearkening to her sweet voice. She used stiitedly to 
lead me there, and always laid her right hand on my head 
while she prayed ; and feelings of deep awe ahvays came 
over me. She never omitted this practice while she lived; 
and I there had distinct and correct impressions made as 
to my character, as well as to the character of God. 

She died when I was nine years old, and was buried 
near by. During the most giddv and wicked period of my 

16^ ' 



186 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

life, I coulci never forget these impressions. The grove is 
cut down now, but the spot seems a hallowed spot. Even 
since the grove has been gone, and since my mother's grave 
has become level with the surrounding ground, I have stood 
on this spot, and her meek image seemed to be before me, 
and her voice, tremulous with feeling, seemed to come 
again to my ears ; and I have paused there in tears, chained 
by a remembrance of her faithfulness and her love. No 
legacy could she have left me half so precious, nor could 
her features have been more vividly and accurately left upon 
canvass, than they are upon my memory. 

Many years after my mother's death, I was in the hey- 
day of youth, and in a course of sin truly dreadful. The 
restraints of conscience were broken, and there was little 
that could or did check me, except my early education. 
My mother had died when I was a mere child, and my 
father was too far off to reach me otherwise than by his 
prayers. I well remember many seasons of deep convic- 
tion for sin, but which my stubborn heart resisted or stifled. 
One night at a ball, whither I went, as I should then have 
said, for rational and innocent amusement, my conscience 
was suddenly startled. 

I was introduced to a young lady for my partner who 
came from a distant section of the country. After the 
dance, in which we were partners, I entered into conversa- 
tion with her respecting the place from which she came. 
She gave me many interesting particulars of that then 
newly-settled place, and among other things mentioned 
the late sickness of her father, and the many continued 
kindnesses and attentions of a Mr. Barr, a missionary ; 
stating that Mr. Barr had been to see her father very fre- 
quently, and that she felt much attached to him. She knew 
not my name. I replied, that " Mr. Barr, the missionary, 
is my father." She started as from an adder. " Your 
father ! he your father! what tvoidd he say if he knew you 
ivere hereT^ Had a dagger been thrust into me, I could 
not have felt the wound more deeply. It spoiled the eve- 
ning for me. It ruined my peace ; and, though I know 
not that it can be said to have been the means of my 
awakening from the sleep of sin, yet I am confident it 
planted a thOrn in my conscience, which was not taken out 
till I had bowed to God with a broken heart. The giving 
and receiving of this keen reproof were both, as it were, 



INFLUENCE OF A PRAYING MOTHER. 187 

involuntary, and show that neither of our consciences could 
approve of the employment of that evening, if allowed to 
speak out without restraint. 

A few days after the ball, 1 was present at a communion. 
At the table many of my near friends were found. The 
scene before me, and the thouo^hts of a future, eternal separa- 
tion, affected me greatly. The sermon, too, reached my 
conscience ; and I might, at the close of the services, be said 
to have been under strong convictions for sin. The same 
day a very devoted Christian was accidentally, or rather 
providentially, thrown in my way. He began to address 
me on the subject of my salvation, without knowing any 
thing of ray previous history, or the state of my feelings at 
that time. Then my heart began to rise with a strength 
of bitterness which I never knew before. I reproached 
him, pointing to the inconsistencies in the church ; raved 
like a madman ; and, while my conscience was grinding 
me like a millstone, I still kept pouring out my invectives. 
He bore it all with meekness, perfectly unmoved, and, by 
his gentleness, held up a shield which caused every dart I 
threw to recoil upon myself. His Christian meekness was 
too much for me ; I rose up in wrath and left him. Had 
he given only one retort — shown one angry feeling, it would 
have relieved me ; but no, I could find no handle, f went 
out into the woods, smarting under the wounds which I 
had been giving myself; and when I could stand under it 
no longer, I returned — told my Christian friend my situation 
and feelings, asked his pardon, and begged his prayers. 
Truly, as Henry Marty n beautifully says, '^4nd this also 
I learned, that the power of gentleness is irresistible,'''' 

I had now been under deep and pungent convictions for 
sin for more than three weeks. I could not pray. I could 
not feel sorry for sin, nor hate it, except as it must bring me 
to unspeakable ruin. There seemed to be no mercy for 
me. The heavens were brass, the earth was iron, and I 
was fast preparing to look up and curse God. Perfectly 
sensible of my situation, perfectly convinced that I deserved 
hell, I could not feel regret or humbled. Every feeling of 
my soul was deep, awakened enmity to the character and 
government of God. 

At length, after struggling with the terrified conscience 
and the stirrings of the Spirit of God, / determined to take 
my own life. It was not the result of a paroxysm of 



188 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

despair, but the cool, deliberate determination of one who 
dares throw himself upon the thick bosses of the Almighty's 
buckler. 

After coming to this determination, I selected my time 
and place. Not far from me was a considerable waterfall; 
thither I went, one beautiful morning, fully resolved to re- 
turn no more. The waters, dark and deep, gathered them- 
selves together in a narrow channel, and after whirling 
around several times, as if recoiling from the plunge, they 
rushed headlong over a time-worn rock, and fell forty feet 
or more into a large basin beneath. On that rock I placed 
myself, prepared to do the deed. I looked down into the 
great basin, forty feet below me, and there the falling waters 
were boiling and foaming up, as if indignant at being thus 
cast down — fit emblem, I thought, of the helpless raging 
of the wicked in the world of despair. But I will noio 
know the tvorst zvhich God can inflict upon me. I ivill 
plunge in, and in five minutes I shall know what hell is, 
and what is to be my situation for eternity I 

I drew myself back to take the plunge. There was no 
faltering — no shaking of a single muscle — ^no sensation of 
fear. But just as I was in the act of leaping, the hand of 
Omnipotence seemed to be laid suddenly upon m.e. Every 
' nerve seemed to be paralyzed, and every bodily function 
to fail. A cold shivering came over me, and I had not the 
strength of a child. I turned my face away; the beautiful 
sun was shining, and for the first time a voice, like that 
of my departed mother's, seemed to say, '^Perhaps there 
may yet be mercy for you,'" ''Ves" I replied, ''/ tvill 
seek it till God takes my life I" And there, and on the 
very spot where I was about to consign soul and body over 
to endless misery, there the mercy of God found me, and 
there the first ray of hope visited me. O ! I can never 
think of this temptation without feeling that I have been 
near the pit ; and that man, if left by God, will quickly 
destroy both soul and body. 

Before closing this narrative I will add, that this interest- 
ing young man lived the life of devoted, consistent, ardent 
piety, lie completed his education, and devoted himself 
as a missionary to xVfrica. He was all ready to depart — 
had taken farewell of his friends, and was, as I believe, on 
his way to the ship which was to convey him to Africa. 
lie arrived at Richmond, Va., on Saturday night, and was 



INFLUENCE OF A PRAYING MOTHER. 189 

to have preached the next day; but about midnight he was 
seized with the cholera, (of which he was the first and only 
victim in that city,) and after twelve hours passed in inde- 
scribable pain, he calmly and sweetly fell into the arms of 
God's messenger, and was carried to that glorious assembly 
where the praying mother, we doubt not, welcomed to her 
everlasting embrace the child of so many prayers. 

How mysterious are the ways of God ! He raises up 
pious friends, and leads them to labour, and pray, and go 
down to the grave, without seeing any good fruit from the 
plants which they nourish and water with prayers and 
tears. But, long after they are gone, their prayers are 
answered and their labours blest. Let no praying motlier 
doubt that her prayers will finally be answered. He is 
mysterious, too, in that he raises up instruments apparently 
fitted for great usefulness, and then cuts them off just when 
they promise to be most useful. But his own glorious 
plans will go on, and he will raise up others to take the 
places of those who are dead. All shall be for the glory 
of God. O! the blessedness of belonging to a kingdom 
which cannot be injured by any changes among such beings 
as we are. Reader ! if yon belong to this kingdom, be up, 
be doing, be vigilant, be faithful. Your crown is near ; it 
is sure. If you do not belong to this kingdom, come at 
once and give yourself to the work of serving God, Ee- 
pent of all sin, forsake all sin, and that same Redeemer 
who saved the dear youth of whom I have been speaking, 
shall be yours. J. T. 



No. IX. 
A PLEA FOR CHINA. 

BY MARCUS E. CROSS. 



PART FIRST. 

Few Pagan lands, at this moment, are viewed with deeper 
interest by Christians who feel the importance of con- 
verting the world to God, than the empire of China, Its 
immense territory ; its teeming millions of souls ; the doors 
which seem to be opening for the introduction of the gos- 
pel ; its present degraded condition : are all topics calcu- 
lated to awaken an intense interest in the minds of all in- 
terested in the cause of missions. 

In offering a few thoughts respecting the condition of 
China, I propose, in the first place, to take a brief survey 
of its dark and degraded condition ; and, secondly, to 
contemplate some of the lighter or brighter shades in the 
picture of its condition, as affording ground of encourage- 
ment for increased eflbrt in that field. 

I. In order to secure a view of its dark and degraded condi- 
tion, I would contemplate, 

1. Some of the general features of the government and 
policy of the empire. 

2. Its social state, and 

3. Refer to its religious and moral condition. 

1. Then I am to speak of the government of China. 
But as preliminary to this, it is important to know some- 
thing of the extent and population of the celestial empire, 
China proper extends from the great wall* on the north, 

* The Chinese wall was erected during the fourth dynasty of China, 
called Tsin, which commenced two hundred years before the Christian 
era. Almost every third man was drafted throughout the empire, for 
the accomplishment of this undertaking ; and bcijig but poorly supplied 

190 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 191 

whicli separates it from Chinese Tartary to the Chinese 
Sea, about 1300 miles ; and about the same distance from 
the Pacific ocean on the east, to the frontiers of Thibet on 
the west. The territories of the empire embrace Thibet, 
Manshuria, Mongolia proper, and the whole of Central 
Asia between Hindostan and Asiatic Russia. The Chinese 
empire, including the tributary states, and those under its 
protection, consists of about 5,250,000 square miles. Ac- 
cording to the census taken in 1813, under the authority of 
the emperor Kea-king, the official returns carried the popu- 
lation of China up to 362,447,183 souls. (See En. of 
Religious Knowledge, p. 1208). Dr. Morrison's estimate 
was,^however, 150,000,000 ; that of his son 360,000,000. 
Lord Macartney states the number at 333,000,000. It is 
probable, the first mentioned is the most accurate estimate. 
Thus we have, in this one empire, nearly one-tenth part of 
the habitable globe, and more than one-third of the human 
population. What immense tides of immortal life are con- 
stantly sweeping over this territory into the ocean of eter- 
nity I The subjects of the Macedonian were but as a 
handful compared with the teeming millions of China. The 
Roman empire, when at its greatest extent, numbered not 
more than one-third of the present population of China ; and 
the throne of the Cesars was, in the power it conferred on 
its occupant, but as a child's elevation, in comparison with 
that on which the Tartar sits. 

The government of China is an absolute monarchy. The 
emperor is the great and supreme patriarch. His titles 
are, the '' Son of Heaven," and the " Ten Thousand 
Years." Ubiquity, or omnipresence, is considered as among 
his attributes ; temples are erected to him in every part 
of the empire ; and he is worshipped as a God. He has 
three wives, of whom only one bears the rank of empress. 
He resides generally at Pekin ; in summer at Techehol. 
When he appears in public, he is accompanied by 2000 

with provisions, many of them died in the work. Hence the Chinese 
call it " the rain of one generation, and the salvation of thousands." 
This wall is a stupendous work, stretching over fifteen hundred miles 
of country, crossing rivers, lofty mountains, and deep valleys, and pro- 
vided with gates and towers at certain intervals. In some places to 
protect exposed passages, it is double and treble. The foundation and 
corners are of granite, but the principal part is of blue bricks cemented 
with pure white mortar. 



192 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

lictors, bearing chains, axes, and other instruments charac- 
teristic of eastern despotism. 

The emperor appoints governors over particular dis- 
tricts, called mandarins. Of these there are estimated to 
be not less than 14,000 on the civil list. They are divided 
into nine ranks or pin, each of which is indicated by a 
double badge — the colour of the globe on the apex of the 
cap, and the embroidery on the front and back of their offi- 
cial robes. 

The only check placed on the power of the emperor is 
that whereby these mandarins and the counsellors make 
humble remonstrances on the errors of government. The 
mandarin, when he goes out, is preceded by a hun- 
dred executioners, who announce his approach by a kind 
of yell. Should any person forget to retire to the side of 
the wall, he is mauled with whips of cords, or rods of 
bamboo. Each mandarin is a kind of despot over hislitde 
province, and disposes of the lives of his subjects at his 
pleasure. The insecurity of life and property in China, is 
expressed in the following terms by Rev. David Abeel, 
missionary to south-eastern Asia. " In the present consti- 
tution of society, there is scarcely any security for property 
or life in the empire. Some of the laws are unjust, 
others perverted to the most nefarious purposes. The inno- 
cent are made to suffer for and with the guilty ; and the 
mandarins have it in their power to dispose of those below 
them at their pleasure. Hence the oppressions and extor- 
tions under which the nation has long groaned. Contrary 
to all the laws of civilized lands, they consider each who 
might possibly be involved in a crime committed, guilty, 
till he proves his innocence. This accounts for that most 
unreasonable, and, if possible, still more cruel custom of 
examining by torture, 

" On every occasion they torture by pulling or twisting 
round the ears, and cause them to kneel a long while on 
chains. They next employ what they call the beauty'* s 
bar, (the breast, small of the back, and legs bent up, are 
fastened to three cross bars, which cause the person to kneel 
in great pain ;) next the parrofs beam, (the prisoner is 
raised from the ground by strings round the fingers 
and thumbs, suspended from a supple transverse beam ;) 
then the refining furnace, (fire applied to the body, and 
other implements, ^expressed by other terms.) If these 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 193 

do not force confession, they double the cruelties till the 
criminal faints and is restored to life again. Prisoners una- 
ble to sustain these agonies, are often compelled to sign a 
confession of crimes, of which after death many of them 
are proved guiltless." — (Indo-Chhiese Gleaner, vol. i.) 

Sach briefly is the dark and iron despotism which has 
been for many centuries swaying its sceptre over this ex- 
tensive empire, 

2. Let us turn now to the social condition of China. 
The systems of morals, as taught by their learned men, 
embrace many comparatively very good precepts ; but when 
contrasted with and tested bjj the pure and perfect precepts 
of the gospel, they many of them appear exceedingly ab- 
surd, and all very defective ; especially if the motives and 
ends of human conduct be taken into the account. 

In their systems of morals we occasionally find a beau- 
tiful and useful precept ; but there is either error or defi- 
ciency in them all. Suppose we take the precepts of the Em- 
peror Kang-he, one of their distinguished moralists ; though 
we admire some of them, yet throughout the whole of the six- 
teen famous maxims of Kang-he for human conduct, his 
appeals are uniformly to selfish principles. It is uniformly 
the fe r/io .9 raZ interest of the person that is addressed. The 
fear of punishment, above all, is impressed on the heart. 

The following specimens from the '* sacred edict," con- 
taining the sixteen maxims of Kang-he, w-ill show the cor- 
rectness of the above statements. (See Edinburgh Review, 
vol. ii. page 556.) "But every hour impose a dread on 
yourselves, by thoughts of the three cubit long instrument 
of punishment. Fear the law, and you will not transgress 
it ; dreal punisJiinent, and you will prevent it. Wicked- 
ness will then gradually vanish ; contentions will not then 
arise ; the simple being renovated will become intelligent; 
the obstinate being reformed will become meritorious." 

The refinement and cultivation of the social affections- — 
the preparation for a higher than mortal existence, is not 
once glanced at. The whole management of a family, as 
inculcated in these precepts, is more like the subordination 
of the camp than the quiet and confidence of home. Do- 
mestic comfort is poisoned, indeed, in its spring, by the 
degradation of the female character. After marrying one 
privileged wife, whom he marries without having seen her, 
and of course without any previous attachment, a Chinese 

17 



194 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

may choose as many more of inferior rank as he can main- 
tain. Even this privileged wife is by no means to be the 
companion, and friend, and helpmate of her husband. 

The catalogue of female duties and virtues is thus summed 
up: ^ 

" Women also have their proper work. You must dress 
the flax, spin the cotton, embroider with the needle, and 
weave sarsanet, gauze, silk, and grass cloth. Why should 
you prefer the pearls, gems, gold, and silver which you see 
some possess ? Go and make shoes, stockings, and clothes ; 
and for these you will get money and grain in exchange. 
Be attentive to your employment, and your thoughts will 
not hesitate." 

The following is a description of a marriage procession 
in China. 

" The bride is carried in a gaudy chair adorned with 
flowers, and preceded by a lengthened train of attendants, 
clad in garments of various colours. There are not less 
than a dozen sedan chairs in the procession, filled with pre- 
sents to the bride. These constitute her whole marriage 
dowry. The persons composing the train are hired for the 
occasion. There are large establishments in China pro- 
vided with men, chairs, and dresses, to be hired out for es- 
corts of this kind. The dresses and sedans range through 
all the degrees of costliness and elegance. Houqua, the 
rich Hong merchant, expended over $50,000 on a daugh- 
ter's wedding, including the bridal presents. Live geese 
are always among the presents, and they are carried in the 
procession, being considered, apparently without any good 
foundation, patterns of concord and fidelity in the married 
state. The beautiful mandarin duck would be a fitter em- 
blem. When the bride reaches the residence of her lord, 
she is lifted by matrons over a pan of charcoal ; a usage 
the exact import of which is not understood. Various cere- 
monies follow, which end in the husband unveiling his 
bride, whom he now sees for the first time ; and drinking 
with her the cup of alliance. A lucky day for the mar- 
riage rites is considered important. On this point re- 
course is had to astrology, and the horoscopes of the par- 
ties are diligently compared. 

The spring in China is generally preferred for wedding, 
when the peach trae is in blossom. This circumstance is 
alluded to in a little poem in the *' Book of Oie5," thus 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 195 

elegantly paraphrased by the accomplished Sir William 
Jones : 

Sweet child of spring, the garden's queen, 
Yon peach tree charms the roving sight ; 

Its fragrant leaves how richly green — 
Its blossoms how divinely bright.' 

So softly shines the beauteous bride, 

By love and conscious virtue led 
O'er her new mansion to preside, 

And placid joys around her shed/'* 

From the best information which can be obtained, there 
cannot be a doubt but what infanticide prevails to a consi- 
derable extent in China. 

Mr. Abeel thus remarks : '' Female infanticide we have 
reason to believe is very common. It is thought by some 
of the best Chinese scholars to be greatly increased, if it 
were not produced by their philosophical notions respecting 
the origin and continuance of all things. There are two 
powers of nature according to their books, on the regular ac- 
tion of which the harmony of the universe, both physical 
and moral, depends. Excess or defect in either power de- 
ranges the system of nature, and introduces disorder in the 
affairs of the world. The one of them they consider to 
be of the masculine gender, the other of the feminine, and 
the difference between the two they suppose as great as be- 
tween the ' vis mobile,' and the ' vis inertia' of the old phi- 
losophers." 

In the city of Pekin, after allowing more than one-half 
for natural deaths, the number of exposed infants is, accord- 
ing to Barrow, about four thousand a year. 

Some of the scenes he witnessed while at Pekin, were 
almost incredible. Before the carts go round in the morn- 
ings to pick up the bodies of infants thrown in the streets, 
amounting to about four-and-twenty every night, dogs and 
swine are let loose upon them. The bodies of those found 
are carried to a common pit without the city walls, in which 
the living and the dead are thrown together. 

In some provinces, not one out of three is suffered to 
live; and in others, as Mr. Abeel was informed, the difference 

* A Peep at China, p. 78. 



196 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

between the male and the female population, is as one to 
ten. 

'* The most prevalent mode of effecting this crime is by 
suffocation, which is done by means of a piece of paper, 
dipped in vinegar, laid over the face of the child, so as to pre- 
vent it from breathing, either by means of its mouth or nos- 
trils. It is said to be frequently done to the aged and 
afflicted, to cut the brittle thread of life."* 

The generality of Chinese ladies cannot boast of great 
beauty. We may judge something respecting their intelli- 
gence and good taste from their considering it the highest 
personal attraction to have a small foot. In what circum- 
stances this practice originated, is not known. The distor- 
tion is produced by turning the toes under the soles of the 
feet at birth ; and confining them in that position by tight 
bandages, till their growth is effectually checked. The band- 
age is continued for several years, during which the poor 
child suffers the most excruciating tortures. 

Few causes exert a more powerful influence on the cha- 
racter of nations than woman. It is the female world that 
chiefly cements society together, and communicates the glow 
of kindly feeling and reciprocal affection. Their natural 
regard and sympathy for the other sex, incline them to its so- 
ciety, draw it into theirs ; and by promoting the desire to 
please, contribute to increase the anxiety and attachment of 
men to each other as well as to themselves. They foster 
and inculcate the amiable sensibilities, and give a perpetual 
popularity to the gentle and obliging disposition, to that 
softened state of mind and manners, which is peculiarly 
efficacious in regulating the energies of human society. 
The virtues and qualities, which most adorn the hum^an cha- 
racter, are most natural to the female nature in all ages, but 
less so to the m.ale after the age of infancy. Hence domes- 
tic felicity, and the pleasurable intercourse of society ; 
hence the sum total of the happiness of nations, will be 
increased proportionately to the cultivation of the female 
mind. Where woman is cultivated, intelligent, refined, and 
virtuous, there must be a good state of society. 

This position seems to be fortified with every view we 
can take of it. 

* Indo-Chinese Gleaner, vol. iii. p. 193. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 197 

" Just as the twig is bent the tree's indined.'* 
But who bends the twig ? Who has the mind and charac- 
ter in hand, while it is yet so flexible that it can be turned 
in any direction and moulded into any sliape? It is wo- 
man — it is the mother who is the guardian angel in forming 
the character during this interesting period. 

What is the report of biography and facts on this sub- 
ject? 

In far-gone times look into the biography of Polycarp, 
Justin, Gregory, and others of the fathers ; look at the 
childhood of our own immortal Edwards, Dwight, Pay- 
son, Mills, and the whole phalanx of those who, at 
home and abroad, are at this day owned and hailed as 
the champions of truth and benevolence ; and you will 
find them all, without exception, to have been the sons 
of pious and intelligent mothers. The father of our coun- 
try, Washington, felt that he owed to his mother much of 
what placed him so high both in the cabinet and in the 
fidd. 

Napoleon, in the zenith of his glory, is said often to have 
owned how much of what was brilliant in his character 
he derived from his mother. Pagan Rome, herself, under- 
stood the pre-eminent power of female influence. In the 
days of her greatest splendour, there stood on one of her 
seven hills a temple dedicated to " female fortune," and 
over its magnificent portal was written the name of Volum- 
nia, for whose honour the temple had been built, to perpe- 
tuate her memory who had saved Rome by her influence 
over her son. Not far distant from it arose a column on 
which was inscribed, **Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi," 
in acknowledgment of her worth as the mother of two 
sons whom she had trained up to be ornaments and defend- 
ers of her nation. 

In order to show the bearing of these remarks, we 
will turn again to the degraded condition of woman in 
China. 

The marriage contract is there very imperfectly under- 
stood, not usually entered into by the joar/ies, but arranged 
according to the caprice of the parents. Among the pea- 
santry, all the heavy labour and drudgery falls upon the 
women; and they are often to be seen with an infant upon 
their backs, yoked with an ass, dragging the plough or the 

17^^ 



198 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

harrow, while the husband indolently directs it, or idles 
away his time in smoking and gambling.* 

The following description, on the authority of the Chi- 
nese Repository, gives a graphic sketch of the condition of 
females in China. 

Pan'hwuy'pan^ who is much admired as a historian, 
composed a book of instructions for her own sex, in which 
she treats of their proper station in society, the deportment 
they should exhibit, and the duties they ought to perform. 
She teaches them that they " hold the lowest rank among 
mankind, and that employments the least honourable ought 
to be, and in fact are their lot." She inculcates entire sub- 
mission to their husbands, and tells them in very plain terms 
that they ought to become abject slaves in order to be good 
wives. We cannot expect that these doctrines, inculcated 
as they are by a lady^ who ought to advocate the cause of 
her sex, and by one held in so high repute as is Pan-hiouy- 
pan. will be overlooked by the '* lords of creation ;" espe- 
cially as they accord so perfectly with their domineering 
disposition in China. 

Confucius, the prince of letters, divorced his ivifs 
without assigning any cause for doing it ; and his fol- 
lowers have invariably adopted similar arbitrary measures 
in their treatment of the weaker sex. The price which is 
paid to the parents of the bride constitutes her at once a 
saleable commodity, and causes her to be regarded as dif- 
fering little from a mere slave. In the choice of a partner 
for life she acts only a passive part. She is carried to the 
house of the bridegroom, and there disposed of for life by 
her parents. 

The birth of a female is a matter of grief in China. 
The father and mother, who had ardently hoped, in the 
unborn babe, to embrace a son, feel disappointed at the 
sight of a wretched daughter. Many vows and offerings 
are made before their idols in order to propitiate their favour 
and secure the birth of a son. The mercy of the compas- 
sionate Kwan-yin, especially, is implored to obtain this 
precious gift ; but after they have spent large sums of money 
in this pious work, the inexorable goddess fills the house 
with mourning at the birth of a daughter. " Anciently," 
says Pan-hwuy-pan, *' the female infant was thrown upon 
* Encyclopedia Americana, vol. iii. p. 146. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 199 

some old rags by the side of its mother's bed, and for three 
days was scarcely spoken or thought of. At the end of 
that time it was carried to the temple by the father, accom- 
panied by attendants with brick and tiles in their hands." 
" The bricks, and tiles," says Pan-hwuy-pan in her com- 
ment on these facts, '' signify the contempt and suffering 
which are to be her companions and her portion. Bricks 
are of no use except to form enclosures and to be trodden 
under foot ; and the tiles are useless except when they are 
exposed to the injuries of the air." The Sheking, one of 
the venerated ancient books, says, 



-When a daughter is bom 



She sleeps on the ground. 

She is clothed with a wrapper. 

She plays with a tile. 

She is incapable either of evil or good." 

This last assertion is explained thus : " If she does ill, she 
is not a woman ; and if she does well, she is not a woman ; 
a slavish submission is her duty and her highest praise." 
At the present day, as well as anciently, the female infant 
is often an object of disgust to its parents and of contempt 
to all the inmates of the family. As she grows up, her feet 
are so confined and cramped that they can never exceed 
the size of infancy, and render it impossible for her ever to 
walk with ease or safety. Small feet, that badge of bond- 
age, which deprives them of the power of locomotion, 
confines them to the inner apartments, except when poverty 
forces them to earn their livelihood abroad by labour, which 
they render exceedingly difncult and painful. 

Females of the higher class seldom leave the house, 
except in sedan chairs. Their lives are but an honourable 
captivity. They have few or no real enjoyments ; are igno- 
rant of almost every thing — very few of them being able to 
read ; and live and die litde more than mere ciphers in 
human society. Pale and emaciated, these spend the 
greater part of their lives in embellishing their persons ; 
while females of the poorer classes, whose feet are neces- 
sarily permitted to grow to the size which the God of nature 
desiorned, perform all the drudgery of husbandry and other 
kinds of work. These last are in general very industrious, 
and prove to be helpmates to their husbands. Being remark- 
able for their good and sound understandings, they manage 



200 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

their families with a great deal of care and prudence ; and 
so far as industry and economy are concerned they are 
exemplary mothers. Notwithstanding the degradation in 
which the3/ are held, they are generally far superior in in- 
tellect to the common cast of Asiatic women. They are 
very ingenious in their needle-work, and the like ; and to be 
a good mother, in the estimation of this class of the Chinese, 
a woman must be a weaver. But it is to be regretted that 
they have very little regard for the cleanliness of either 
their persons or houses. Their children crawl in the dirt, 
and the few articles of furniture in their dwellings are co- 
vered with filth. 

Licentiousness, that bane of society, prevails to a lament- 
able extent in all parts of China. Mr. GutzlafF remarks, 
in the journal of his third voyage along the coast ; "As soon 
as we had anchored, numerous boats surrounded us with 
females on board. I addressed the sailors, and hoped I 
had prevailed in some degree to curb their evil passions. 
But, alas ! no sooner had I left the deck, than they threw 
off all restraint; and the disgusting scene that ensued might 
well have entitled our vessel to the name of Sodom, 
Parents prostituted their daughters, husbands their wives, 
brothers their sisters ; and this they did, not only without 
remorse, but with diabolical joy." This is but a single 
specimen of the glaring character of their licentious 
customs. 

In concluding my remarks on the degradation of woman 
in China, I would only say : — When we consider that the 
great mass of Chinese women are not allowed the confi- 
dence of their husbands, nor to sit at table with them ; nor 
to have a voice in domestic concerns ; nor to visit the tem- 
ples, where the prayers of the unfortunate are supposed to 
find access : when the most important injunctions upon 
them are the following : '* Rise ; run ; work ; eat little ; 
spend litde ; be silent ; keep out of sight ; obey ; bear ; 
and rather bleed, starve, and die, than dare to complain :"~ 
when they are without education ; crippled from infancy ; 
closely immured; married without their consent; in some 
instances even sold by their parents ; when, I say, we take 
into the account all these things, what must, from the nature 
of the case, be the degraded condition of Chinese society? 
When the rising generation, when the budding intellects 
of the young are committed to such hands, how luxuriant 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 201 

must be the soil for producing all the desolating fruits of 
idolatry ! 

Such is the social condition of that country which the 
dehided people themselves denominate *' the flowery 
nation" — *' the region of eternal summer" — " the land of 
the sages" — " the celestial empire !" — Such is the condi- 
tion of that people who think themselves as pleasantly 
situated as the following soliloquy by Teen Ke-shih repre- 
sents : — *' I felicitate myself," says he, '' that I was born 
in China ; and constantly think how very different it would 
have been with me if born beyond the seas, in some remote 
part of the earth, where the people, deprived of the con- 
verting maxims of the ancient kings, and ignorant of the 
domestic relations, are clothed with the leaves of plants, 
eat wood, dwell in the wilderness, and live in the holes of 
the earth; though, living in such a condition, I should not 
have been different from the beasts of the field. But now, 
happily, I have been born in the middle kingdom ; I have 
a house to live in ; have food, drink, and elegant furniture ; 
clothing, caps, and infinite blessings ; truly, the highest 
felicity is mine." 



PART SECOND. 

3. We are now to refer to the religious and moral con- 
dition of China, 

The principal religions of China may be comprised in 
the three following divisions, viz. : the Confucians, the fol- 
lowers of Laou-tsze, and Buddhists. 

Some idea can be obtained of these religions from the 
following sketches respecting their founders, and doctrines, 
furnished by Mr. Medhurst, of the London Missionary 
Society : — 

** Some idea of the different religions may be afforded, 
by a slight sketch of their respective founders, and of the 
doctrines promulgated by them. To begin with Confucius ; 
he was born, as has been before observed, in the twenty- 
first year of Chow Ling-wang, b. c. 549, in the state of 
Loo, now the province of Shan-tung. His mother had 
prayed to the hill Ne for a son, and on bringing forth the 
sage, called his name Chung-ne. Fable says, that on this 



202 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

occasion, two dragons encircled the house, while sweet 
music was heard in the air. Confucius was left an orphan 
at an early age ; and during his youth amused himself with 
marshalling the sacrificial vessels, as opposing armies, or 
as princes and ministers. As he grew up, he studied the 
art of ruling; and at the age of fifty was employed by the 
sovereign of his native state, as magistrate of a small dis- 
trict. Here he instructed the people to nourish their 
parents while living, and to inter them suitably when dead ; 
he directed the elder and younger to eat separately, and 
men and women to take different sides of the road; no one 
picked up what was dropped in the street, and all needless 
ornament was abolished. Three or four years afterwards, 
Confucius was raised to the rank of prime minister of Loo. 
Some improvements took place under his rule ; when the 
prince of a neighbouring state, fearing lest Confucius should 
acquire too great an influence, sent a band of female musi- 
cians to the Loo country, on the acceptance of which by 
his sovereign, the sage resigned, and left his native pro- 
vince. From this period he wandered from one petty king- 
dom to another, frequently exposed to the secret machina- 
tions and open attacks of foes. During these peregrinations, 
hs taught his disciples under the shade of some tree ; and, 
hurrying about from place to place, was sometimes deprived 
of the necessaries of life. At length the prince of Tsoo, a 
southern state, hearing that Confucius was in the neigh- 
bourhood, wished to engage him ; but one of his own 
officers remonstrated, saying, that Confucius would never 
sanction their ambitious views ; and that, therefore, it was 
not for the interests of Tsoo that he should be retained. 
The prince listened to him, and declined the services of 
the sage. From thence Confucius retired to his native 
state, where he did not again solicit oilice, but employed 
himself in discoursing on ceremonies, correcting the odes, 
and adjusting music. 

*' There are, in the works of this philosopher, some allu- 
sions to heaven, as the presiding power of nature ; and to 
fate, as the determiner of all things ; but he does not appear 
to attribute originality to the one, or rationality to the 
other: and thus his system remains destitute of the main 
truth, which lies at the basis of all truth, viz., the being 
of a self-existent, eternal, all-wise God. On one occasion, 
Confucius exclaimed, * Unless it be heaven's design that 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 203 

my cause should fail, what can the people of Kwang do to 
me V Again, when one asked him whether it were best 
to worship this or that deity, he said, 'You are mistaken ; 
he that offends against heaven has no one to whom he can 
pray.' Another passage runs thus: 'Imperial heaven 
has no kindred to serve, and will only assist virtue.' The 
glorious heavens are said to be ' bright, accompanying us 
wherever we go.' ' When heaven sent down the inferior 
people, it constituted princes and instructors, directing them 
to assist the Supreme Ruler in manifesting kindness through- 
out all regions.' ' Life and death are decreed by fate ; 
riches and poverty rest with heaven.' 

" When describing the origin of the world, they talk in 
the following strain : ' Before heaven and earth were 
divided, there existed one universal chaos ; when the two 
energies of nature were gradually distinguished, and the 
yin and yang, or the male and female principles established. 
Then the purer influences ascended, and became the ex- 
pansive heavens ; while the grosser particles descended, 
and constituted the subjacent earth. From the combination 
of these two, all things were produced ; and thus heaven 
is the father, and earth the mother of nature.' 

" The principle of the Chinese cosmogony seems to be 
founded on a sexual system of the universe. That which 
Linnaeus found to exist in plants, the Chinese conceive, 
pervades universal nature. Heaven and earth, being the 
grandest objects cognizable to human senses, have been 
considered by them as the parent of all things, or the supe- 
rior and inferior principles of being. These they trace to 
an extreme limit, which possessed in itself the two powers 
combined. They say that one produced two, two begat 
four, and four increased to eight; and thus, by spontaneous 
multiplication, the production of all things followed. To 
all these existences, whether animate or inanimate, they 
attach the idea of sex ; thus every thing superior presiding, 
luminous, hard, and unyielding, is of the masculine ; while 
every thing of an opposite quality is ascribed to the femi- 
nine gender. 

" But it may be asked, have the Confucians no idea of a 
spirit, and do they not pay divine honours to invisible beings? 
To this we may reply, that the learned in China talk largely 
of spirits and demons, but assign them a very inferior place 
in the scale of existence. Instead of teaching that the Great 



204 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Spirit was the former of all things ; they hold that spirits 
are far inferior to the visible and material heavens, and even 
rank below ancient sages, and modern rulers. Confucius 
confessed he did not know much about them, and therefore 
preferred speaking on other subjects. When one of his 
disciples asked him how he was to serve spiritual beings, 
he replied, ' not being able to serve men, how can you 
serve spirits?' And when the disciple continued to inquire 
about the dead, the sage replied, ' not knowing the state of 
the living, how can you know the state of the dead V His 
universal maxim was, ' Respect the gods, but keep them 
at a distance ;' that is, show them all due honour, but have 
as little to do w^ith them as possible. It is customary with 
the Chinese to attach a presiding spirit to each dynasty and 
kingdom, to the land and grain, to hills and rivers, wind and 
fire ; while the four corners of the house, with the shop, 
parlour, and kitchen, of every dwelling, are supposed to be 
under the influence of some tutelary divinity. To these the 
sage considered it necessary to pay the accustomed honours, 
but was decidedly averse to what he called flattering the 
gods by constant services. Dr. Milne says, that ' the word 
shin should very rarely, if ever, be rendered god, in trans- 
lating from Chinese books ; but rather aeon, gods, a spirit, 
an intelligence, &c.' How far it can be proper to express 
the Christian idea of God by the same term, when writing 
for the Chinese, remains a question, which has long been 
agitated, and is yet undecided. 

" With regard to a future state of being, the Chinese are 
as much in the dark as in what relates to the Deity. They 
speak of the intellectual principle, as distinct from the ani- 
mal soul ; but do not say any thing definitely about its 
existence after death. The sentence quoted above, shows 
how the philosopher evaded the question. Some of his 
followers have talked of three intellectual souls ; and seven 
animal spirits, as attached to each individual; at death, the 
latter disperse ; and of the former, one resides in the grave, 
the other follows the parental tablet, and the third wanders 
about like the genii over the mountains ; but whether in a 
state of happiness or misery, the Chinese do not say. In 
fact, the Confucians do not connect the idea of retribution 
with the soul, or the invisible world at all : they imagine 
that all the rewards of virtue and vice, are confined to the 
present state ; and if not dealt out during the lifetime of the 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 205 

individual, ^vill be visited on his children and grandchildren 
to the latest generation. The attachment of parents to their 
oiTspring, and tlie desire of perpetuating one's name and 
estate to future ages, are thus appealed to ; but these feelings 
are far from influencing men to a suitable extent. When, 
therefore, a Confucian can calculate on escaping immediate 
infliction, and can harden himself against his posterity, he 
has nothing to allure him to goodness but the principle of 
pursuing virtue for its own sake; which, in a corrupt heart, 
will not carry the individual far. 

'' Thus, then, we find the far-famed school of Confucius 
deficient in two important points, the existence of a God, 
and the interests of the world to come ; teaching a lifeless, 
cold-hearted, uninfluential system, which is powerless in 
the present, and hopeless for the future world. Of what 
avail is the parade about the five cardinal virtues and the 
human relations ; when the foundation of all virtue, and the 
most interesting of all relations, is unknown and neglected ? 
The love of God is a principle which Confucius never 
broached, and which his disciples, until taught by a better 
master, cannot understand ; while the employments and 
enjoyments of heaven never entered into their heads to con- 
ceive, nor into their hearts to appreciate. Surely, if ever 
any needed the teaching of the divine Saviour, the sages of 
China do ; and the first lesson they would have to learn in 
Irnmanuers school is humility. 

" Before quiting the system of Confucius, it maybe well 
just to allude to the opinion of his followers regarding hu- 
man nature. The orthodox sentiment on this subject is, 
that human nature is originally virtuous, and that each in- 
dividual is born into the world with a good disposition ; by 
intercourse witli others, and through the force of example, 
men become vicious ; but the sages, by tlieir instructions, 
awaken and renovate mankind ; when they revert to their 
original purity. This doctrine has, however, met with its 
opponents ; among the rest, one Kaou-tsze contended that 
human nature was neither inclined to evil nor good, but 
might be turned either one way or the other. A conversa- 
tion between him and a disciple of Confucius is recorded in 
the Four Books, of which the following is the substance. 

*' Kaou-tsze said, 'Human nature is like the wood of the willow tree, 
and righteousness is like a bowl ; the getting men to be good, is like 

18 



206 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

working up the wood into bowls.' Man g-tsze replied, ^ Can you turn 
wood at once into bowls 1 must you not cut and hack it, in order to form 
a bowl 1 and if it be necessary to cut and hack wood, to make a bowl, do 
you mean to say that we must cut and hack men, in order to render 
them good ? This system of yours is calculated to make men abhor good- 
nessj as contrary to their nature.' Kaou-tsze, not baffled by this reply, 
renewed his statement under another form, saying, * Human nature is 
like water gushing forth ; if you turn it to the east, it will flow to the 
east ; and if to the west, it will flow to the west ; human nature has no 
preference for good or evil, just as water has no preference between east 
and west/ Mang-tsze replied, * Water has indeed no preference be- 
tween east and west ; but do you mean to say, that it has no choice be- 
tween up and down ] Human nature is good, just as water has a ten- 
dency to flow downwards. Men are universally inclined to virtue, just 
as water invariably flows downwards.' Feeling, however, that he had 
made rather a startling declaration, he qualified it by saying, ' Water, by 
beating, may be made to splash over your head, and by forcing may be 
made to pass over a mountain ; but who would ever say that this is the 
natural tendency of water? It is because violence is applied to it. Thus 
men can be made vicious ; but it is by no means their nature.' 

*' The next of three sects, into which the Chinese are di- 
vided, is called Taou. This word means, originall)^ a way 
or path, a principle, and the principle from which heaven, 
earth, man, and nature emanate. Le is the latent principle, 
and Taou is the principle in action. It also means a word, 
to speak, and to say ; and is very like the Logos, or the 
* eternal reason' of the Greeks. The founder of this sect was 
Laou-tan, commonly called Laou-tsze, who was contempo- 
rary with Confucius ; but the Taou, or Reason itself, they 
say, is uncreated and underived. Some idea of it may be 
gained from the following stanza : — 

" * How luminous is Eternal Reason ! 
Uncreated and self-derived : 
The beginning and end of all the kalpas;* 
Before heaven and before earth ; 
United brilliancy splendidly illuminated, 
For endless kalpas without interruption. 
On the east it instructed Father Confucius, 
On the west it renovated the golden Buddha : 
Hundreds of kings have received this law, 
The host of sages have followed this master: 
It is the first of all religions. 
Majestic beyond all majesty.' 

*' Tlie doctors of Eternal Reason speak of it in a most 
rapturous strain. They say — 

• Kulpu is a Hindoo term for time, denoting about one thousand ages. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 207 

" * What is there superior to heaven, and from which heaven and earth 
sprang: ? nay, what is there superior to space, and which moves in space] 
The great 'J'aou is the parent of space, and space is the parent of heaven 
and earth ; and heaven and earth produced men and things. 

" 'The venerable prince (Taou) arose prior to the great original, stand- 
ing at the commencement of the mighty wonderful, and floating in the 
ocean of deep obscurity. He is spontaneous and self-existing, produced 
before the beginning of emptiness, commencing prior to uncaused exist- 
ences, pervading all heaven and earth, whose beginning and end no 
years can circumscribe. 

" ' Before heaven and earth were divided, ere the great principles of 
nature were distinguished, amid the ocean of vast obscurity and universal 
stillness, there was a spontaneous concretion, out of which came a thou- 
sand million particles of primary matter, which produced 'emptiness.' 
1'hen, after nine hundred and ninety-nine billions of kalpas had passed 
away, the thousand million particles of primary matter again concreted, 
and produced 'space :' after another period of equal length, the particles 
of primary matter again concreted, and produced ' chaos.' After chaos 
was settled, heaven and earth divided, and hum.an beings were born.' 

'* The founder of the Taou sect, called Laou-tsze, * the 
venerable philosopher/ and Laou-keun, ' the venerable 
prince,' though coeval with Confucius, is said to have ex- 
isted from eternity, and to him they ascribe the creation 
of the world, as in the following paragraph : — 

*' ' The venerable prince, the origin of primary matter, the 
root of heaven and earth, the occupier of infinite space, the 
commencement and beginning of all things, farther back 
than the utmost stretch of numbers can reach, created the 
universe.' 

*' One of the fabled incarnations of Laou-keun is thus 
described : — ' The venerable prince existed before the crea- 
tion, but was incarnate in the time Yang-kea, of the Shang 
dynasty, b. c. 1407 ; when from the regions of great pu- 
rity and eternal reason, a subtle fluid descended, from the 
superior principle of nature, and was transformed into a 
dark yellow substance, about the size of a pill ; which, 
rolling into the mouth of a pearly damsel, while she was 
asleep, caused her to conceive : the child was not born till 
eighty-one years afterwards, and on his appearance was 
gray-headed : hence he was called Laou-tsze, the venerable 
one. The second appearance of this wonderful individual 
was in the person of Laou-tan, who was visited by Confu- 
cius, B. c. 500. A third appearance occurred in the third 
year of Kaou-tsoo, of the Tang dynasty, a. d. 623, when 
a man of Shan-se province reported, that on a certain hill 



20S MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

he had seen an old man in white raiment, who said, * Go 
and tell the emperor that I am Laou-keun, his ancestor.' 
Upon which the emperor ordered a temple to be built for 
him, 

" The v^otaries of this sect talk a great deal about virtue,- 
and profess to promote it by abstraction from the world, 
and the repression of desire : this latter they imagine is to 
be effected by eating their spirits, or stifling their breath 
for a length of time. They say, that all depends on the 
subjection of the heart; and therefore mortify every feel- 
ing, in order to attain perfect virtue, which is insensibility. 
Hence some of them wander away to the tops of mountains 
to cultivate reason, and renounce all intercourse with men, 
that their studies may not be interrupted. They affect to 
despise wealth, fame, and posterity ; urging, that at death 
all these distinctions and advantages terminate, and the la- 
bour bestowed upon them is thrown away. 

" The followers of Taou, like the Athenians of old, are 
* in all things too superstitious.' While the Confucians 
have scarcely determined whether spirits exist or not, the 
advocates of eternal reason profess to have constant inter- 
course with, and control over, the demons of the invisible 
world. Chang Teen-sze, the principal of the Taou sect, 
in China, who like the Lama of Thibet, is supposed to be 
immortal, or rather whose place is supplied by a successor 
as soon as the old one dies, assumes an authority over 
Hades, He appoints and removes the deities of various 
districts, just as the emperor does his officers ; and no tute- 
lary divinity can be worshipped, or is supposed capable of 
protecting his votaries, until the warrant goes forth under 
the hand and seal of this demon ruler, authorizing him to 
exercise his functions in a given region. 

*' The adherents of Taou believe firmly in demoniacal 
possessions, and endeavour to avail themselves of the ravings 
of a disturbed imagination to discover future or hidden 
things. They imagine that the spirits of the invisible 
world employ the mouths of the possessed to declare audi- 
bly the mind of the demon. There are some who are re- 
gularly possessed, and some who can induce possession, 
which they call ' dancing the god.' The author hap- 
pened once to be present when such a scene was exhibited ; 
the house where it was enacted, was nearly full of specta- 
tors ; and at the head of the room, near the altar piece, 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 209 

stood a priest performing various incantations, and now 
and then striking the floor with a rope which he held in 
his hand. He then approached a bench, on which sat a 
native in a pensive mood, over whose head he blew a horn, 
and rang a bell, and went through a few more ceremonies ; 
when the man referred to began to move his fingers, hands, 
and arms ; then his knees and legs, till his whole body be- 
came convulsed, and he sprang up, and danced round the 
room like a madman. Just as he was in the act of falling, 
he was caught by the bystanders, who listened attentively 
to what he might have to say, and stood ready to record 
every expression. The occasion of the ceremony was the 
dangerous illness of an inmate, for whom they wished to 
obtain an infallible prescription. The possessed soon an- 
nounced the requisite remedy, which was something about 
three skeins of red thread, and half an ounce of carpenter's 
chips, to be boiled down in a pint of water, and a tea-cup- 
ful given occasionally. After the unfolding of this won- 
derful recipe, the individual sank down into a sort of swoon, 
and was carried out. 

** INIagic arts are used, or said to be used, by this sect ; by 
means of which they profess to work wonders ; some of 
them go about with swords thrust through their cheeks ; and 
ride in sedan chairs, stuck round with sharp knives, with- 
out appearing to sustain any permanent injury. In the year 
1819, an open boat, with an idol and offerings on board, 
drifted down the China sea, and was picked up at Malacca. 
The Chinese venerated it as a wondrous relic, and made it 
the occasion of many sacrifices and superstitions. 

" The Taou sect worship a variety of idols, some of 
which are imaginary incarnations of Eternal Reason. 

'' We now come to the consideration of the third religion 
in China, namely, the sect of Buddha. The account given 
of the founder of this system is as follows: Sakya Muni 
Buddha v/as born in the twenty-fourth year of Chaou-wang, 
B. c. 1027, at Magadha, in South Bahar ; in his nineteenth 
year, he thought of quitting his family connexions, and be- 
coming a recluse, but was at a loss whom to adopt for his 
spiritual guide. He attended the four schools, but was not 
satisfied with them, because by all their studies, old age, 
sickness, and death could not be avoided ; when one night, 
a celestial being appeared at the window, saying, — ' Young 
prince ! you have long talked of quitting your family : now 

18* 



210 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

is the time ; come away !' The prince, hearing this, 
cheerfully passed over the city walls, and went to the hills 
to cultivate virtue. After sixteen years' probation, without 
following the directions of a master, he entirely repressed 
the vicious propensities, until he became Avithout feeling, 
and completely perfect. After escaping the infirmities of 
age, and avoiding the metempsychosis, he was annihilated, 
B. c. 948. Before his absorption into nothing, he delivered 
the following stanza : — 

** ' In his system of religion, Buddha followed no system : 
But his baseless system, still became a system : 
He now delivers you this unorganized plan, 
That, by imitating it, you may form a system.' 

*' In the eighth year of the reign of Ming-te, of the Han 
dynasty, a. d. 66, the religion of Buddha first entered 
China. The emperor hearing that there was a divine per- 
sonage in the west, of the name of Buddha, sent messen- 
gers to India, to inquire into his doctrines, obtain his books, 
and bring some of his priests to China. The historian 
tells us, that " the general scope of these books was to exalt 
annihilation, and promote compassion, by not killing ani- 
mals ; affirming that when men die, their spirits do not 
scatter, but, assuming another form, receive the recompense 
of all the good and evil they have ever committed ; hence 
they constantly aim to cultivate and improve their spirits, 
till they become amalgamated into Buddha." 

" The empire is now full of Buddhist temples, and the 
priests of this sect actually swarm. They profess to re- 
nounce all family connexions — take a vow of celibacy — 
shave their heads — dwell in temples — abstain from animal 
food — and subsist on the voluntary contributions of the 
people. The gods they worship are the three precious 
Buddhas — the past, present, and future ; Kwan-yin, the god- 
dess of mercy, the goddess of the smallpox, the patroness 
of barren women, the god of wealth, &c. The three Budd- 
lias are generally represented half-naked, with woolly hair, 
in a sitting posture; one holding the mundane egg in his 
lap ; one adorned with the sacred thread ; and one with his 
finger upraised, as though engaged in instructing mankind. 
In front of the three images, or in a separate temple, is an 
image of the goddess of mercy ; in a niche, on one side, the 
god of war ; and, on the other, the protectress of seamen. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 211 

A high tahle, for candles and incense, stands before the 
images ; and in the centre of the temple is a large iron caldron 
for burning gilt paper in : on either side the hall are placed 
a bell and a drum, to arouse the attention of the god when 
important personages come to adore him ; and a few cush- 
ions and mats, on whicii the worshippers kneel, make up 
the furniture of a Buddhist temple. They have no Sabbaths 
nor periodical seasons of rest ; but observe the new and full 
moon with particular solemnity, and keep, on the whole, 
one hundred and sixty-two fast-days every year ; besides 
the matins and vespers of each day. 

" * Why do we exhort men to fix the thoughts on Buddha but because 
the most serious consequences are connected with the thoughts of men? 
That which draws forth the soul, renders fate favourable, and life secure ; 
all proceeds from this source. If the thoughts are good, you ascend to 
heaven ; if bad, you descend to hell. One incorrect thought v/iil cause you, 
in the transmigration, to return to the world in the shape of a man ; and 
one cross thought, in that of a beast. Why are there so many hungry 
ghosts in hell ? Merely because of wrong thoughts. Think of the devil, and 
you will become a devil; think of Buddha, and you will be transf)rmed 
into Buddha. Would you prevent the six grades of the metempsychosis ] 
There is no other method but to think of Buddha. If you will not think 
of Buddha, you will lose a human body, and for ten thousand ages not be 
able to regain it. To think of Buddha, and yet not be delivered from 
alternate births and deaths — it is impossible. If men pray to Buddha, 
and yet do not become Buddhas, the error is not in Buddha ; it is because 
the mouth prays, and not the mind. We must have Buddha in the 
mouth and Buddha in the mind — neither of these can be dispensed with. 

"' But, it may be said, there are thousands and myriads of Buddhas, 
why then repeat the name of Amida Buddha only] The answ-er is, be- 
cause he swore, that if any one, in all the ten w^orlds, should, after re- 
peating his name, fail to attain life iii his kingdom, he would cease to be 
a god. 

" ' The land of his kingdom is yellow gold. Its gardens and palaces 
are all adorned with gems. It is encircled with rows of trees, and bor- 
ders of net-work. There are lovely birds, of sparkling plumage and ex- 
quisite notes. The great god 0-lo-han, the goddess of mercy, the unnuju- 
bered Buddhas, the host of demi-gods, and the sages of heaven and earth, 
will all be assembled in that sacred spot. But in that kingdom there are 
no women, for the women who will live in that country are first changed 
into men. The inhabitants are produced from the lotus flower, and have 
pure and fragrant bodies, fair and well-formed countenances, with hearts 
full of wisdom, and without vexation. They dress not, and yet are not 
cold ; they dress, and are not made hot. They eat not, and yet are not 
hungry; they eat, and yet never know satiety. They are without pain 
and sickness, and never become old. Enjoying themselves, at ease, they 
follow Buddha, gayly frisking about without trouble. The felicity of that 
kingdom may be justly considered superlative, and the age of its inhabit- 



212 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ants without measure. This is the paradise of the west, and the way to 
obtain it is the most simple imaginable ; depending on one sentence, 
O-me-to Full, (Amida Buddha ;) yet the world will not take the trouble to 
seek this good so easily attained ; but put on their iron boots, and go in 
quest of another road. 

" * Swear, then, that you will henceforth repeat the name of Buddha, 
and seek to hve in that western world of joy. Give up books and clas- 
sics, for others to fag at ; leave the thousand roads for others to toil in. 
Beyond this sentence, 'O-me-to Fuh,' you need not a single word. Let 
each seek a retired room, and sweep it clean ; place therein an image of 
Buddha; put incense and pure water, with a lighted lamp before it ; 
whether painted on paper, or carved in wood, the figure is just the same 
as the true Buddha ; love it as your father and mother — venerate it as 
your prince and ruler. Morning and evening worship before it with re- 
verence ; on going out, inform it; and, on returning, do the same. 
Wherever you travel, act as in the presence of Buddha. Whether you 
eat or drink, offer it up first to Buddha. Raising the eye, or moving the 
lips, let all be for Buddha. Let not the rosary leave your hands, or 
O-me-to Fuh, depart from your mouths. Repeat it with a loud voice, 
and with a low one ; in lines of six words, and four words ; quickly and 
slowly ; audibly and silently ; with clasped hands, and with bended 
knees ; when fingering the rosary and when w^alking in the road ; when 
in a crowd, and when alone; whether at home or abroad ; whether at 
leisure or in a bustle; whether sitting or lying; repeat it, even in your 
dreams. Thus to repeat it, will move your feelings, and make your tears 
to flow ; thus to repeat it, wi'l inspire the celestial gods with awe, and the 
terrestrial demons with reverence ; thus to repeat it, will make heaven re- 
joice, and the gods be glad. At the sound of Buddha's name, the palace 
of the king of devils moves and shakes. At the sound of Buddha's name, 
the wood of sw^ords and the mountain of knives (in hell) will, for you, be 
beaten as small as dust. At the sound of Buddha's name, hundreds and 
thousands of miseries will all melt away. At the sound of Buddha's 
name the debt of gratitude to parents, princes, superiors, and benefactors, 
will all be paid. The man who would squeeze out the oil, must grind the 
more forcibly : and the mariner who would stem the swelling tide, must 
ply the oar more vigorously. If you realize, behind you, the boiling cal- 
dron of hell, and before you the lotus pools of heaven, though all the 
world should try to prevent your repeating the name of Buddha, their 
efforts would be entirely vain.' '' 

" Such is the heaven of Biuldha, and siicli the way to ob- 
tain it. Every morning, after dressing, the devotee is to 
turn his face to the west, stand upright, clasp his hands, and 
with a continued sound, say, " O-me-to Fuh." To exhaust 
one breath is called " a repetition :" these repetitions must 
be accord inor to the lengrth of one's breathintr. When the 
breath is quite out, that is the limit. The sound should be 
modulated according to the due medium. While repeating 
the name of Buddha, the worshipper is directed to be as 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 213 

serious as if going to execution, as if fleeing from a mortal 
enemy, or as if surrounded with floods and flames. The 
advantages said to accrue to the repeater, are the following : 
all the gods of heaven will protect him : all the demi-gods 
will attend him : all the Buddhas will think of him : no de- 
vil can harm him, nor calamities aftlict him : all his former 
crimes shall melt away, and he shall be delivered even from 
the crime of murder : his dreams shall be pleasant, and his 
heart always glad: the world will respect him; and when 
he dies, he will see 0-me-to Fuh, and all the sacred ones, 
who will introduce him to the pure land. 

*' During the Sung dynasty, they say, that one Hwang, 
a blacksmith, was in the habit of repeating the name of 
Buddha, with all his might, at every stroke of the ham- 
mer. One day, whilst at his work, he repeated the fol- 
lowing verse : — 

<« i Ting ting, tang tang, 
Like the iron's clang : 
Peace is come to ray breast, 
I am bound for the west :' 

saying which, he was instantly transformed into Buddha; 
and, as the story goes, flew away to heaven. 

'* In addition to the name of Buddha, the adherents of this 
sect are in the habit of repeating prayers or charms, com- 
posed in some Indian language, the sounds of which are 
expressed in the Chinese character, and rehearsed by the 
worshippers, without their understanding a single word. 
The following is a specimen : — 

" * Nan-mo o-me-to po-yay to-ta-kea, to yay, to-te-yay-ta, o-me-le™too 
pO'kwan, o-me-le-to, seeh-tan-po-kwan, o-me-le-to, kwan-kea-Ian-te, 
o-me-le-to, kwan-kea-Ian-te, kea-me-ne, kea-kea-na, cheh-to-kea-Ie, 
po-po-ho.' 

'* This form is as unintelligible to the Chinese as it is to 
the English reader. A very fevv of the priests, only, un- 
derstand it: and yet it is supposed efficacious in removing 
all evil. The books of Buddha aflirm, that the god, O-me- 
to, rests on the head of those who repeat this prayer. 
When a person has repeated it 200,000 times, the intel- 
ligence of the deity begins to bud within him : when he has 
repeated it 300,000 times, he is at no great distance from 
a personal vision of the god, O-me-to. During the dynasty 



214 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

of Tsin, ihey say that a teacher of the name of Yuen, 
whilst repeating this prayer, saw a divine person from the 
west, holding in his hand a silver throne, who addressed 
hirn, saying, * Celebrated teacher! thy days are ended; 
ascend this throne, and be carried to yonder region of ex- 
quisite delights.' The people in the neighbourliood heard 
the sound of harmonious music in the air, and a marvel- 
lous fragrance was diffused all around." 

The religion of Buddha, modified under the name of the 
religion of Fo, has become the prevailing religion of China. 
Substantially the same system, under different names, pre- 
vails in Hindostan, Ceylon, Burmah, Siam, Cochin China, 
and Japan. Thus we have here a religion, which is exert- 
ing its debasing influence on 500,000,000 of human beings. 
This relig;ion allows the worship of any number of deities. 
It teaches the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and 
promises its votaries, as its highest reward, absorption in 
Nervana, or a state of insensibility to either pleasure or 
pain. It declares that to expiate sins and' secure their 
highest heaven of blessedness, nothing more is requisite 
than to pile their sacrifices on their bloody altars, and to 
subject themselves to the severest tortures and penances. 

In all systems of paganism, there are several features in 
which all essentially agree. I will notice a few revolting 
features in the Chinese religion, which will be but counter- 
parts of most other systems of idolatry. The first I notice 
is the fact that they have no correct ideas of a Supreme 
Being, but worship innumerable deities, and those too 
many of them of the most revolting character. 

Thus they scatter th.3 affections of the soul, which ought 
to be anchored fast on the throne of the living God, and 
leave it to be tossed on the sea of uncertainty, doubt, 
and absurdity, till it is lost in a miserable eternity. The 
Chinese have multiplied their deities to an enormous extent. 
There is no combination of matter so loathsome ; no form 
of vice so degrading ; nothing within the range of the hu- 
man imagination so monstrous, but that it is enthroned in 
some form or other as an object of homage. Six hundred 
millions of saints are said to be canonized with each supe- 
rior deity.* The Grand Lama who resides at Patoli in 

* The Buddhists suppose ihere is always some superior deity who 
has att'runed the hifrhest elevation by his merit. To the present grand 
period, comprehending all the time included in a kulpu, they assign five 



A PLEA FOR CPIINA. 215 

Thibet, is at once liigh-priest and an object of worship in 
China, as well as in Thibet. He resides in a vast palace 
near the banks of the Burrampooter, about seven miles from 
Lahasse. The foot of the mountain is surrounded by 20,000 
lamas or priests in attendance on their sovereign pontiff who 
is regarded as the vicegerent of the deity on earth. Even 
the emperor of China does not fail to acknowledge him in 
his religious capacity, and entertains in the palace at Pekin 
an inferior lama, deputed as his nuncio from Thibet. 

Secondly^ the religion of China proposes no adequate 
atonement for sin. The Christian reposes his hopes and 
founds his expectation of pardon on a crucified and risen 
Saviour. These deluded pagans are groping on in the deep 
darkness of pagan night, expecting by their own merits, 
their cruel and bloody rites, to secure the favour of their 
gods, and thus to gain admission to the elysian fields of 
Buddha. 

Thirdly, this religion presents no rational views of fu- 
ture rewards and punishments, or a state of existence be- 
yond the present world ; and affords not a particle of clear 
evidence of the soul's immortality. The Buddhists are 
taught that there are four superior heavens, which are not 
destroyed at the end of a kulpu ; that below these there are 
twelve other heavens followed by six inferior heavens, after 
which follows the earth ; then the world of snakes, and 
then thirty-two chief hells, to which are to be added one hun- 
dred and twenty-two hells of milder torments. Their high- 
est state of glory is absorption. (See Ward on history, 
literature, and religion of Hindoos.) It is difficult to say 
precisely what they mean by absorption. Dr. Buchanan 
says, (Asiatic Researches, vol. vi. p. 180,) nigban (absorp- 
tion) implies exemption from all the miseries incident to 
humanity, but by no means annihilation. Metempsychosis, 
or the transmigration of souls, is an idea very prevalent 
among the Chinese. Those who perform works of merit 

deities, four of whom have already appeared, including Gaudama or 
Buddha, whose exaltation continues five thousand years; two thousand 
three hundred and fifty-six of which had expired a. n. 1814. After the 
expiration of five thousand years, another saint will obtain the ascend- 
ancy and be deified. Six hundred miUions of saints are said to be canon- 
ized with each deity, though it is admitted that Buddha took only twenty- 
four thousand devotees to heaven with him. — (See Mr. Ward on the 
history, literature, and religion of the Hindoos, vol. ii. pp. 387.) 



216 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

are admitted to the heavens of the different gods, or are 
made kings or great men on earth ; and those who are wick- 
ed are born in the forms of different animals, or consigned 
to different hells. They usually doom the notoriously bad 
at once to hell, but those who were guilty of lesser crimes 
are punished for them in the bodies of those into which 
their souls are next sent. The Buddhists believe that at 
tlie end of a kulpu the universe is destroyed. To convey 
some idea of the extent of this period, the illiterate Cinga- 
lese use this comparison : if a man were to ascend a moun- 
tain nine miles high, and to renew these journeys once in 
every hundred years, till the mountain were worn down by 
his feet to an atom, the time required to do this would be 
nothing to the fourth part of a kulpii. 

The religion of Buddha is no better then than atheism, 
and the highest reward of piety no better than annihilation. 
O ! how inexpressibly bright then must be the C07itrasted 
light of the gospel to a devotee of this religion, who 
becomes a convert to Christianity. As Christianity comes 
to him, she scatters the darkness that hangs over the tomb ; 
she enters the iron gates of death, and casts her angelic 
smile around upon its cold and slumbering tenants, and says 
in the language of her native heavens, " Let there be life :" 
and she points to the resurrection of her glorious Author, 
and gives the everlasting pledge that ere long there shall 
be life, and that the righteous shall rise to glory and immor- 
tality, but the wricked to shame and everlasting contempt. 

'* Idolatry is everywhere marked by two leading quali- 
ties, cruelty and impiety. Their deities are of a ferocious 
and sanguinary character. The more we become acquainted 
with these idolaters, like Ezekiel when he surveyed the 
chambers of imagery, we discover only the greater abo- 
minations. In their system as connected with their con- 
duct, there is a perpetual action and reaction^ vice gene- 
rating idols^ and idols fortifying vice. First we find mere 
abstractions of the mind, formed concerning the deity ; 
these are next imbodied in idols, and all the human passions 
are enlisted by devotion itself on the side of vice."* 

Such is a brief view of the religious condition of tlie 
largest empire on earth, with the exception of Russia. 
And when we contemplate this mammoth system of idola- 
try, in all its native deformity, — 

* Robert Hall's works, vol. vi. p. 409. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 217 

"Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell," 

we do not wonder that it has rent from the human heart all 
that was endearing in the charities of life ; that it has taught 
the mother to tear away the smiling infant clinging to her 
breast, and to cast it the shrieking prey to contending alii- 
gators; or that children can convey their parents, just 
stepping into the eternal world, to some lonely forest, to 
become the prey of devouring beasts. 



PART THIRD. 

II. We come now to the second general object proposed 
in this article, which was to exhibit some of the lighter 
and brighter shades in the picture of the condition of 
China, as affording ground of encouragement for increased 
exertion to supply it with the gospel, the only moral 
remedy for its evils. 

1. The first thing I notice is the comparatively easy 
intercourse with the Chinese, contrasted with the former 
rigour of the government in this respect. It has, till quite 
recently, been supposed that intercourse with the Chinese, 
to any considerable extent, was impossible. But the 
voyages of the devoted and enterprising Netherlands mis- 
sionary, Gutzlaff, along the coast, and into the interior of 
the empire, have demonstrated the practicability of exten- 
sive intercourse with them. The laws, it is true, remain 
severe against foreigners, not allowing any, on pain of 
death, to land at her ports, except a few English merchants 
at Canton, The jealousy and prejudice of the government 
against foreigners originated, in a measure, in the mistaken 
notions they entertained respecting liberty and Christianity, 
They have feared them worse than the cholera spreading 
desolation among her population. This prejudice may be 
accounted (or partly from the limited means of information 
they have enjoyed respecting enlightened nations, and 
partly from the channels through which their information 
hd^s flown. They have gathered their ideas of liberty prin- 
cipally from tlie French revolutions, bursting forth occa- 
sionally like volcanoes, and burying the government in 
ruins. They have derived their notions of Christianity 

19 



218 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

principally from the Roman Catholics, who have long been 
missionaries among them.* And what could they see to 

* The elTortsof the Roman Catholics, in behalf of China, commenced 
in the beginning of the fourteenth century, when Nicholas IV. sent 
Corvino on an embassy to Cobiai, the lirst emperor of the Moi^ul 
dynasty; and, in 1307, Clement V. constituted him bishop of Cambalu, 
of Peking. Benedict VI., a. d. 1338, sent new agents into China and 
Tartary, Nothing more is heard of the efforts to convert the Chinese 
until the Portuguese rounded the Cape of Good Hope, and established 
themselves at Goa. Lj 1511 Alphonso took Malacca; and eight years 
afterwards Andrade sailed for China. A second embassy was despatched 
to China, a. d. 1552, accompanied by Francis Xavier, who ardently 
desired the gaining of so vast an empire to the Christian rellgon. On 
his arrival at the mouth of the Canton river, he was told that strangers 
were debarred from entering the country ; and that if he attempted to 
land, he would be imprisoned or put to death. Persisting in his resolu- 
tion, he induced a Chinese to convey him on shore during the night, at 
the island of Sancian, or St. John. He was not permitted, however, to 
do more than just to land and die on shore, where his tomb still remains, 
with the following inscription in Chinese ; " The monument of St. Fran- 
cis Xavier, of the society of Jesus in the great west, who ascended to 
glory, in the winter of the 3ist year of Ming Kea-tsung, a. d. 1553." 

The zeal of Xavier animated his brethren ; but for thirty years they 
could make no impression on China. During this period Valignani 
resided at Macao, and cast many a longing look towards the celestial 
empire, crying out in the fervency of his desire, " O, rock I rock ! when 
wilt thou open V^ Not discouraged by difficulties, he looked out for 
the fittest instruments, who, dead to themselves, and breathing nothing 
but resignation and martyrdom, should by their skill in the sciences be 
able to recommend themselves to the Chinese. In 1579, M. 'Roger, an 
Italian Jesuit, arrived in China, w^here he was soon joined by Matthew 
Ricci. A church was soon formed, over which Ricci presided for about 
seven years. He afterwards repaired to Nankin, where, by his dis- 
courses on science, he gained favour, and made some proselytes. 

Encouraged by the openings that presented themselves, Louis XIV., 
King of France, resolved to send a mission to China ; and having se- 
lected a number of Jesuits, well skilled in the mathematics, he sent them 
with honours and pensions on this important mission. They went first 
to Siam, and from thence proceeded in a Chinese junk to Ning-po, on 
the coast of China. The mandarins at that'port received them kindly; 
but the viceroy declared it unlawful for native vessels to bring Europeans 
to China, and threatened to send the missionaries back and confiscate 
both ship and cargo. The emperor being memorialized on the subject, 
replied, "Men of that character must not be expelled my dominions. 
Let them all come to my court ; those who understand the mathematics 
shall remain about my person : the others may dispose of themselves in 
the province as they think fit.'' 

Accessions have l)een made from time to time to the Catholic mission, 
and they have persevered in their labours to convert the Chinese, and 
have made maxiy proselytes. By a statement of ten Roman Catholic 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 219 

admire in the Roman Catholic religion ? If rebuked for 
their idolatry, tliey could retort on the Roman Catholic, 
*' How many removes from idolatry is it to venerate and 
worship the relics of departed saints, and even of some who 
never had a being; as the fabled St. Ursula, with her ten 
thousand virgin martyrs, of w^hom no trace is found in his- 
tory ?" If allusion were made to the cruel rites connected 
with their religion, they in turn might ask them if there is 
not at least a tendency to cruelty in that religion which 
will sanction such a massacre, for instance, as that of St. 
Bartholomew, in 1572?* 

But the Chinese are beginning to secure more accurate 
information, and to learn the value of civil liberty, not from 
the French revolutions, but from the happy land of Ame- 
rica, where the experiment of freedom has been tested with 
the most flattering success. They begin, also, to learn 
that the value of the Christian religion cannot be determined 
by Catholicism, alias the mother of abominations ; but that 
Protestants have examples in bold relief to show the efficacy 
and power of the gospel on individuals and nations. They 
see a light shining on Ceylon, and other islands of the sea, 
with inexpressible brightness, chasing away the clouds and 
errors of paganism ; and they understand that the gospel 
poured down that divine radiance. They begin to learn 
that the protestant missionary has come to do them good — 
to benefit them physically^ intellecfiially, and morally; 
and their prejudices are abating. Mr. Gntzlafl' has pene- 
trated the whole length and breadth of the land, everywhere 
distributing Christian books, and declaring the unsearch- 



missionaries, who recently arrived at Batavia, on their way to Cochin 
China, it appears that there are in Tonquin and Cochin China four 
bishops, fifteen European missionaries, upwards of one hundred nativfe 
missionaries, and more than four hundred thousand cmveris. See 
Davenport's History, and Medhurst's State and Prospects of China. 

* This slaughter contmued thirty days. It was commenced at the 
instigation of Catharine de Medici, who reigned during the minority of 
Charles IX. on the throne of France, and directed particulaily against 
the Huguenots. Five hundred gentlemen and ten thousand of the lower 
classes were assassinated at Paris, and not less than thirty thousand in 
the provinces. At Rome cannons were discharged, the pope ordered a 
jubilee, and a procession to the church of St. Louis, and caused ''To 
Deum" to be chinted, and the cardinal to return thanks to Almighty 
God, and a medal to be struck, in honour of the u!)princi})led transac- 
tion. See Schiller's History of the Troubles in France, vol. xvi. 



220 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

able riches of Christ to thronging and eager multitudes. It 
has been thought that the time is not far distant when a free 
trade with China will open facilities for the rapid extension 
of the gospel in that land. 

2. Another encouraging fact is, that several missions 
have already been established and successfully maintained 
in China. The first protestant m.issionary to China was 
the Rev. Dr. Morrison, of England, who sailed for China 
in 1807. He was soon joined by Dr. Milne. Our own 
mission for China was commenced in 1830, and the Ne- 
therlands mission in 1831. 

The first Chinese convert under the labours of Dr. Mor- 
rison was Tsae-A-ko, aged 27, who, after long instruction, 
came forward and made a public profession of religion in 
the following language : — '' Jesus making atonement for 
sin is the blessed sound. Language and thought are both 
inadequate to exhaust the admirable goodness of Jesus. I 
now believe on him, and rely on him for the remission of 
sins. I have many defects, and without faith in Jesus 
should be eternally miserable." He adhered to his pro- 
fession till his death, in 1818. Much was accomplished 
for China by the labours of Dr. Morrison. He translated 
the whole Bible, with the assistance of Dr. Milne, into the 
Chinese language. He also composed a large dictionary 
of the Chinese language, which was afterwards published 
by the East India Company, at an expense of d6 15,000. 
He prepared also many other small books and tracts, which 
are destined to exert a powerful influence in China. In 
the year 1832 Dr. Morrison writes : " I have been twenty- 
five years in China, and am now beginning to see the work 
prosper. By the press we have been able to scatter know- 
ledge far and wide." This efficient missionary was called 
away to his reward in heaven in August, 1834. 

Messrs. Bridgeman and Parker, at Canton, have been 
prosecuting their labours with commendable zeal and suc- 
cess. The attempts which have been made to unite the 
medical practice with that of preaching the gospel have 
been crowned with abundant success. The last instance 
is that of Dr. Parker, who, in November, 1835, opened an 
Ophthalmic Hospital, in Canton, at which, within the 
space of two years, three thousand patients were relieved. 
One man had his arm amputated at the shoulder joints ; 
which was the first instance, in Canton, of a native's voluu- 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 221 

tarily submitting to the removal of a limb. The people 
have been remarkably eager to avail themselves of the 
benefits of the institution, and have been very grateful for 
the benefits imparted. The hospital has been approved of 
by the government. One of the private secretaries to the 
chief magistrate of Canton has been restored to sight, and 
has indited a poem to the praise of his benefactor. Says 
Mr. Medhurst, *' Medical and surgical practiiioners, seek- 
ing to benefit the nations of the east, may safely reside in 
all the islands of the Malagar iVrchipelago, in Burmah and 
Siam, as well as on the borders of China." It is true that 
in order to promote the conversion of souls we must employ 
the preaching of the gospel, in dependence on the Holy 
Spirit; but it is also true that we cannot adopt a more 
effectual means for promoting the introduction of evangeli- 
cal instruction into China, than by making medicine the 
pioneer of religion. 

3. ilgain : another encouraging fact is the facilities which 
are afforded in China for the dissemination of Christian 
knowledge through the press. The Chinese are a reading 
people, and the number of their public works is very con- 
siderable. In the department of morals, history, biography, 
the drama, poetry, and romance, there is no lack of writings, 
such as they are. China has had, too, her Augustan age 
of poetry. And it is a remarkable fact, that this brilliant 
epoch in Chinese letters was during the eighth century of 
our era, when almost the whole of Europe was sunk in 
gross ignorance and barbarism. 

" The number of individuals acquainted with letters in 
China is amazingly great. One-half of the male population 
are able to read ; while some mount the ' cloudy ladder' of 
literary fame, and far exceed their companions."* "Whe- 
ther the knowledge or tradition of the art of printing may 
not have travelled westvi^ard from China, through the chan- 
nels of oriental intercourse, is a fair question for specula- 
tion. Nothing is more clear than that the Cfiinese were 
in the possession of this contrivance in the tenth century. 
Stereotype or block printing has always been the mode 
which they have practised. Strictly speaking, the press 
of China would be a misnomer, as no press whatever is 
used. The whole apparatus of the printer is made up of a 

* Medhurst's State and Prospects of China, p. 144. 
19* 



222 MUSEUM OP RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

vessel of liquid ink, a pile of paper, a brush to ink the 
block, and a rubber to make the paper take the impression. 
The business is managed with such expedition, that a man 
can throw off three thousand impressions in a day. The 
speed and cheapness of printing, with the low price of 
paper, enable the Chinese to furnish books to each other 
for next to nothing." 

The prevailing systems of religion, in China, were cir- 
culated through means of books, as public speaking and 
preaching are by law forbidden. Our missionaries at Can- 
ton have purchased a large printing establishment at Singa- 
pore, having two presses and two founts of type. The 
character and location of Singapore will make this an im- 
portant acquisition. This is one of the most important 
ports of the whole east. One hundred and forty junks and 
boats arrive and depart from it every month, touching at all 
the ports along the whole coast of China. 

The language of China has been found more easy of 
acquisition than it was formerly supposed to be. It is true 
the characters in this language are very numerous, there 
being not less than eighty thousand ; but the elementary 
characters from which all the rest are derived by various 
combinations, is only two hundred and fourteen ; and by 
close application, a good linguist will acquire the language 
as soon as most other foreign languages. The Chinese 
language consists of hieroglyphic characters. These are 
divided into six classes ; first, the pictorial, or those which 
have some resemblance to the object, such as sun, moon, 
mountains ; second, metaphorical, or those that derive a 
meaning from something else ; thus the character for *' han- 
dle," signifies also "authority;" ihird, indicative, or those 
which indicate the sense by the formation of the character, 
as a man above ground signifies " above," and one under- 
neath, " below ;" fourth, constructive, or those which 
derive their signification from the component parts of the 
character, as the symbol for " mouth," over another denot- 
ing '* tree" signify when united, '' birds singing ;" fifth, 
derivative, or those that are formed from others with a 
slight alteration, as the character for " great," with an addi- 
tional dot over it means '' very great ;" sixth, phonetic, or 
those in which form and sound harmonize together, as the 
characters for river and stream, in which three drops repre- 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 223 

sent the water, combined with other characters whose sound 
is known.* 

From what has been said, it will be seen that the facili- 
ties for bringing the mighty engine of the press to bear 
on the millions of China, are peculiarly great. 

4. The next favourable circumstance to which I will 
allude, is the eagerness of the people for Christian books, 
and the cordiality with which they are received. This 
point will be abundantly confirmed by the citation of a few 
extracts from those who have traversed the field in person. 

Leang-Afa, one of the earliest and most efficient Chinese 
converts, in giving an account of the distribution of books 
on a tour to Chaou-king-fo, states, " when the students knew 
that we had books in our boat for distribution, they came 
with many other persons to receive them ; all these persons 
received the books with gladness and thankfulness. The 
literati, and merchants, and other people from the boats 
far and near, came to obtain the books ; and there were 

* Chinese Language, — The first information received by Europeans 
respecting the written language of the Chinese, was from the Catholic 
missionaries. They represented it as comprising 80,000 characters. 
Later researches have shown that the elementary characters are much 
fewer. In an account of this language published in 1825, Dr. Morrison 
gives first a collection of 373 ancient symbols with explanations of 
their meaning and origin. These ancient symbols are said to constitute 
the first principles of the language. From them were derived 214 cha- 
racters called radicals, from which all the rest were formed. He next 
gives a table of 411 syllables, of which, exclusive of tones and accents, 
the spoken language consists. The 214 radicals, and 411 syllables, are 
considered as forming the materials of the whole written language. Its 
characters are not intended to be the signs of simple articulate sounds. 
They are sometimes denominated hieroglyphic and symbolical. It origi- 
nated in a sort of picture writing, from which it has, after the lapse of 
many years, become what it now is. In its present state, the best idea 
of its character would be derived from comparing it with the Arabic 
figures. These characters, figures, or symbols are now almost universally 
understood throughout the world, however differently named by people 
of different nations ; and the primitive signs are now to most nations 
quite arbitrary, whatever the reasons of their first formation might have 
been. But supposing 2 and 3 to be entirely arbitrary, the union of 
these two, 23 and 32, presents to the eye a definite idea, which is the 
result of combination, and which remains the same whether pronounced 
by an Englishman, a Hindoo, or a Chinese, in the spoken language pe- 
culiar to each nation. In consequence of this peculiarity of the Chi- 
nese written language, it is understood and read in all the regions of 
eastern Asia, by people whose languages are very different, and who 
cannot maintain the least oral intercourse with each other. 



224 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

some who wished to know what doctrines they contained. 
I told them that they were chiefly selections from the true 
classics, the Holy Book, and contained doctrines in the 
highest degree important to men ; advising them first of 
ail to adore the great Lord of heaven and earth, and then to 
believe in the Saviour of the world for the salvation of their 
souls." He distributed about 8000 books in three days. 

Mr. GutzlafF, in a letter under date Nov, 10th, 1833,' from 
Canton, to P. Perritt, Esq. writes as follows : " Since you 
received my last journal I have made more extensive tours 
and never met with any obstacles. I visited Mantchoo, 
Tartary, Keang-nan, Chi-keang, and Fuhkeeun, and spread 
the word of life on a more extensive scale than ever before. 
A later tour which I made during the summer months in the 
Fuhkeeun tea country, has but confirmed me in my opinion 
that Cfiina is open for the spread of the gospel. My me- 
dical practice has also been very extensive, and is now ra- 
ther too large ; for if I did not occasionally run away, I 
might have to serve 1000 patients per day. I hail the ar- 
rival of new labourers from your country, the cradle of 
liberty. Tell my friends in America who take an interest 
in my excursions, that as long as there is still breath in me 
— as long as I can move my hand, I hope to be enabled by 
the grace of God to speak, and to act, and to write in behalf 
of China.'' ^ 

Mr. Medhurst describes the eagerness of the people for 
books on sevevixl occasions. While at Ke-san-so he states, 
*' stepping on shore, we began to give away a few books, 
which were no sooner in their hands than we were sur- 
rounded by numbers begging for more. Here we told the 
sailor who accompanied us, to open his basket, when the 
whole crowd rushed forward, and thrusting their hands at 
once among the books, tumbled both sailor and basket off 
the boat into the sand." 

Dr. Milne in a letter under date July 2d, 1814, in giving 
the directors of the London Missionary Society an account 
of a voyage of 1400 miles which he had made to Java, 
writes : "The Chinese of all ranks and in every place re- 
ceived my books gladly, and listened with patience to what 
I had to say about the true God." 

5. I would in the fifth and last place, allude to the de- 
clining state of paganism in China, as a ground of encou- 
ragement. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 225 

The temples of Buddha are in various places in a state 
of decline.* The more reflecting and intelligent of the Chinese 
begin to acknowledge that their systems of paganism are 
based upon ignorance and superstition, are unworthy the 
dignity of the immortal mind, and totally inadequate to an- 
swer the purposes of mera political utility 2.n(\ prosperity, 
A fierce contest is going on between the antagonist princi- 
ples of divine truth and human error. The power of the 
Spirit from on high, is making a terrible onset on the com- 
bined powers of moral darkness. Holiness is coming up 
to the mortal struggle with sin. This is a conflict enlisting 
on the one hand the resources of Omnipotence, and on the 
other the combined powers of hell. It is a contest between 
the church and good men on earth, and infidelity, atheism, 
and superstition, led on by the arch foe of human happi- 
ness. And there is a moral omnipotence in truth — in the 
gospel, which is making the old temple of idolatry to trem- 
ble on its firm pillars. Indeed, so absurd and ridiculous is 
paganism, that it cannot stand under the brightness of the Sun 
of Righteousness. Hence idolatry will vanish in China 
just in proportion as the gospel can secure a patient and 
candid hearing. 



PART FOURTH. 

In concluding these imperfect remarks, I would throw 
out the three following reflections. 

1. In the first place contemplate the moral glory and sub- 
limity of the missionary enterprise. It aims to break up the 
loathsome system of idolatry, and regenerate the whole so- 
ciety of one of the most extensive empires on earth. It 

* On all sides we were gratified by perceiving marks of decay in the 
temples and adjacent buildings, and earnestly hope that future travellers 
will find these worse than useless structures level with the ground ; and 
the lazy drones who inhabit them scattered abroad or employed in pro- 
moting the welfare and intelligence of their fellow-countrymen. One 
of the priests wished us to contribute something towards beautifying an 
image which had lost its gilt coat, and looked rather shabby, but we told 
him that his was a poor god that could not furnish himself with clothes ; 
for our part, when our apparel was worn out, we contrived to get a new 
dress by honest industry, and should leave their god to do the same. — 
(See Medhurst's State and Prospect of China, p. 396.; visit to Poo-too.) 



226 MUSETTM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

aims to seek and to save in yonder benighted China, more 
than 360,000,000 of immortal souls, who are now sunk in 
the deepest degradation. It aims to save and regenerate 
China, did I say ? This is in fact but one of the strongholds 
of the adversary which it would rescue from his cruel grasp. 
Contemplate then distinctly and fully the sublimity of tiiis 
enterprise. What are its aiins ? Its field is the world. It 
desires to produce a radical revolution in the temporal and 
moral interests of the whole human race. '* It seeks first to 
uproot, overturn, and demolish the whole kingdom of evil; 
to take down its entire fabric from its top-stone to its lowest 
foundation ; to sweep the earth clear, and leave not on its 
wide field a trace of the present order of things in the un- 
evangelized world. Next and meanwhile, it seeks to let 
down, and lay deep, and broad, and immovable, the founda- 
tions ; and rear high, and beautiful, and eternal, the super- 
structure of the kingdom of righteousness and peace. Its 
object is to ' bring into captivity every thought to the obe- 
dience of Christ,' and to (ill the habits, customs, and man- 
ners, all the learning, and governments, and religion of our 
race with the spirit of Christ." 

What are its instrumentalities and means ? The wea- 
pons of its warfare are not carnal but spiritual. It would 
come with no array of physical force. *' The type of its 
spreading is the silent beautiful light rising calmly up against 
the reign of darkness, and filling the whole heavens with 
floods o^ splendour, ^^ It is by going forth and telling the 
children of men the simple story of redeeming love, and by 
the eloquence of such an appeal to persuade them to be 
reconciled to God, Its instruments are, the living teacher 
with the word of God, sowing broadcast the good seed of 
the kingdom. It would bring to its aid the mighty power 
of the press, and every other appliance to disseminate /ig*/i^ 
and truth. But its efficient agency to convert the soul is 
a power from on high, " Not by might, nor by power, 
but by my Spirit, saith the Lord." How simple the 
means! The wisdom of God has devised apparently the 
weakest means to effect the most magnificent of results. 
Though simple, yet how astonishinorly eflicacious these 
means ! The preaching of the gospel is a remedy which 
has been tested by the experience of 1800 years. Its effi- 
cacy has been proved by human beings of all ages, from the 
lisping infant to the sinner an hundred years old. All cli- 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 227 

mates have witnessed its power. From the ice-bound cliffs 
of Greenland, to the banks of the voluptuous Ganges, and 
to the utmost verge of China, the simple story of Christ 
crucified has turned men from darkness to light. It has 
stretched the rainbow of promise over the hunting ground 
and forest of the savage Indian of the western wild, and 
taught him to worship the Great Spirit wlio made him. It 
has revolutionized and raised to a high degree of moral dig- 
nity many islands of the sea. It has pierced the black and 
loathsome jrroves of Druidical barbarism in Britain, Ger- 
manv, and Gaul, and taught the Druid not to look for the 
residence of the Mmighty only in their sacred oak, but 
that his temple is everywhere ; that the " heaven of hea- 
vens" cannot contain him ; that their human sacrifices will 
not avail them ; but that the blood of Christ alone can avail, 
that " cleanses from all sin."'^ It has planted the rose of Sha- 
ron among the moors of Scotland. It has raised in Eng- 
land ten thousand spires, all pointing to the skies, and elu- 
cidating its power to elevate the human soul in all that ex- 
alts. It has spread a charm over Geneva in Switzerland, 
sweeter than her picturesque scenery, and gilded as her lake 
when the sun sets upon its waves. This is the power that 
is beginning to penetrate the deep moral darkness of pagan 
China, and will in time work out its regeneration. By 
these simple and effectual means, it will go on '* conquer- 
ing and to conquer," until 

*' One song employs all nations, and all cry, 
Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us. 
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks, 
Shout to each other ; and the mountain tops 



* " The Druids considered the oak as the emblem, or rather the pecu- 
liar residence of the Almighty, and accordingly chaplets of it were worn 
both by the Druids and people in their ceremonies; the altars were 
strewed with its leaves, and encircled with its branches. The fruit of 
it, especially the misletoe, was thought to contain a divine virtue, and to 
be the peculiar gift of heaven. As soon as they were informed of the 
discovery of the misletoe, they prepared for the sacrifice under the oak, 
to which they fastened two white bulls by the horns ; then the arch 
Druid, attended by a prodigious number of people ascended the tree, 
dressed in white, and with a consecrated golden knife, cropped the mis- 
letoe, which he received in his robe. According to Cesar, they in some 
cases offered human victims, and that upon the conviction that humaii 
blood was required to atone for human guilL" 



228 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 
Till nation after nation taught the strain, 
Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round." 

2. In the second place reflect on the grounds of our encou- 
ragement, and hope that the great work of converting China 
will be effected. The obstacles are greats it is true, but 
they are not insurmountable. The difficulty of converting 
China is increased, not only by deep-rooted prejudices, but 
from the fact, that these are backed by all the array of po- 
litical power and philosophical cunning. All that is now 
doing is some score of Christian missionaries sustained by 
the churches of England and America, and one thousand 
persons thereby brought under instruction, and the average 
number converted in a year is not more than ten*.* Could 
we bring one thousand individuals under instruction every 
day, and give them only a day's teaching each, it would take 
one thousand years to bring all the population of China thus 
under the sound of the gospel; and if every ten of these 
separate thousands were every day converted to God, it 
would require one hundred thousand years to make all this 
mighty host savingly acquainted with divine truth. 

Thus the magnitude of the work disheartens and depresses 
the mind. Tlie multitudes to be benefited, and the dis- 
tance to which the supposed accomplishment of the design 
is removed, sickens, so that men of com.mon mould and 
usual energies would hardly venture on such an under- 
taking. 

But remember, desponding Christian, on w^hose poiver 
it is that we rely. Do you talk o( poiver ? The God who 
forms a blade of grass, and begets a drop of dew, can as 
easily convert a soul ; and he who converts 07ie soul can 
as easily convert a nation. Every day, in the midst of 
heathen lands, God exerts a power sufhcient to save a 
universe. Who gives to the pagans life, and breath, and 
reason, and conscience ? Who causes their sun to shine, 
and their ground to yield its fruits ? Talk no more, then, 
about the possibility of converting China to God. It is 
only for God to speak the word, and the work is done. 
He can cause all China to bow to his grace as easily as he 
can shake the leaves of the forest. Contemplate the cha- 

* These facts are on the authority of those who have canvassed the 
field, as Messrs. Bridgeman & Medhurst. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 229 

racter of the gospel for diffusion. It is aptly compared to 
a little leaven, that gradually spreads itself till it leavens 
the whole lump. Its very instinct is propagation. No 
sooner is one converted, than he is anxious to make it 
known to others. In this way one may he the means of 
awakening ten, and ten of communicating the same blessing 
10 a hundred ; and so the influence may widen and extend. 
Its influence may be compared to the little pebble thrown 
upon the surface of a mighty lake. The pulsation is at 
first but a little circle. But it spreads and widens, circling 
wave impelling circling wave, stretching out further and 
further upon the limpid waters, till it becomes lost in its 
extension, or strikes on the distant shore. 

Archimedes thought if he could get a place to stand on, 
he could construct a lever by which he could raise the 
world. China is under one despotic monarchy; and if by 
the prayers of Christians the grace of God should bow the 
heart of the emperor of China, we should have a lever with 
which to raise China from its degradation ; and who can 
tell how soon, under God, this might be the means of 
raising that whole empire to the light of holiness and moral 
beauty. The Christian who by his prayers and influence 
should cause an arrow from God to pierce the heart of this 
self-styled " Son of Heaven," and convert the '' Dragon 
Throne" to the purposes of piety and benevolence, would 
be truly a polished shaft in the quiver of the Almighty — 
Wvould effect more than Archimedes, even if he had carried 
his plans into efl^ect. 

That God will in due time bring about the conversion 
of China is placed beyond a doubt by his own eternal 
pledge. He has declared that the stone cut out of the 
m;^untain without hands, should become a great mountain, 
and till the whole earth. Besides, there is a specific pro- 
phecy respecting China, In Isa. xlix. 12, God says, " Be- 
hokl, these shall come from far; and, lo ! these from the 
north and west; and these from the land of Sinim." Great 
pliilologists are ajrreed that Sinim was the name under 
which eastern Asia, or China, was known to the inhabitants 
of western Asia. The purposes of God in relation to the 
ultimate triumph of the church seem to be interwoven with 
the very frame-work of the Bible ; and these sublime plans 
of t'ls Divine mind seem to be hastening to a completion ; 
when the song of triumph shall rend the heavens, and go 

20 



230 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

Up from all parts of the earth, as the voice of many waters ; 
**Ailelaia ; for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth." 

3. In the third place, the exhibition of the condition of 
China which we have furnished affords the ground of an 
earnest appeal to Christians to awake from their deep 
slumbers, and to adopt more efficient measures for sending 
the gospel to China, No one who has read these few pages 
will hesitate to admit that China greatly needs the gospel ; 
and no one who admits the authority of revelation will doubt 
the final triumph of Christianity in that extensive empire. 
The great question is, about the best means of bringing 
about so desirable an encL God works by instruments, and 
generally apportions results, other things being equal, to the 
amount of means employed. If we expect China to be 
converted, the friends of the Redeemer must come up to 
the great work with a moral courage and energy commen- 
surate wiih the importance of the object. A larger number 
of missionaries, well qualified in mind and in heart, must 
be sent forth to those fields white and waving already for 
the harvest. How can we expect, with a single score of 
missionaries, to produce any great effect on the hundreds 
of millions of China? As well might we attempt with a 
feeble wire to move a solid rock, as with so small a band 
to move and influence so vast a multitude. Is not the object 
one of surpassing moral grandeur ? Are there not motives 
enough clustering around this enterprise to incite us to 
action ? There was a time once, wlien, at the voice of 
Peter, the sceptered hermit, all Christendom poured its 
bannered legions upon the shores of western Asia. And 
for what? It was the crusaders seeking to rescue the 
sepulchres of the Holy City from the hands of infidels. 
China has been in the hands of infidels for centuries, and 
of that destroyer too who has destroyed a millio]i annually, 
and fitted many v»'e fear for eternal woes. But what might 
not be accomplished if Christians were to engage in the 
work with only a small degree of the enthusiasm of the 
crusaders ? With a proper degree of interest and devotion 
to the cause, not thirty years would elapse before the high 
arches of heaven would ring with the sonor of '* Glory to 
God in the highest," at the jubilee of China's redemption. 
Do you say, what can /do ? Every one can pray. There 
is no Chri:-tian so small or so weak but that he can exert 
an influence in prayer, that shall inlluencc Him who moves 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 231 

the wheels of universal nature, and turns the hearts of the 
chiklren of men as the rivers of water are turned. Who 
knows but that your prayers may affect the heart of some 
heathen prince, and induce him to submit to God, and to 
lead his people to cast their idols to the moles and bats, and 
to worship the true God^*and thus a nation to be born 
at once?* Again; all can contribute something, nile^si, 
to swell the mighty river of benevolence which is flowing 
in a broad and deep current over the earth. Do you say, 
I am poor? Be it so. This will not deprive you of the 
heaveidy luxury of doing good, and of giving a little, at 
least, to aid in tlie work of converting the world to God. 
Your external means may be indeed limited; but under 
the blessing of God, the little that you may give may con- 
tribute to place a tract or a Bible in the hands of a pagan, 
which shall result in his conversion ; or, combining with 
other gifts, it may be the origin of some stream of benevo- 
ient influence, wiiich, in its operation, shall resemble the 
flow of the ocean, rolling its fulness in perpetual waves 
upon the most distant shores. 

I'l the next place, all can do something to excite the 
spirit of missions in our own land. The mainspring of 
efficient action in the cause of missions is eminent piety, 
and a feeling of deep and lively interest in the w'ork. There 
is no lack of mind, funds, and resources, if they could be 
developed and brought out and consecrated to God, Other 
enterprises of a secular cast can command resources. For 
a system of internal improvements in the single state of 
Pennsylvania twenty-two millions of dollars is freely given ; 
but to redeem the millions of immortal souls who are perish- 
ing for lack of vision, when was an expenditure so liberal 
thought of? I repeat it, then, wdiat is needed is a hijrher 
tone of piety, a supreme devotedness to God, and an intense 
ruling passion to subserve the glory of God and the good 
of man. This state of feeling must be induced by the 
efforts of Christians. Every one should feel it to be the 
great enterprise of the age, to produce a right state of feel- 
ing on this subject, and thus to secure efficient action. 
The minds of Christians on this subject must be enlight- 
ened, their hearts enlarged ; then their purses will be 
opened — their energ-ies and influence combined. Then 
with true^ not deceitful lips, they will sing : — 
* Isa. Ixvi. 8. 



232 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

" All that I am, and all I have, 
Shall be forever thine ; 
Whate'er my duty bids me give 
]\Iy cheerful hands resign." 

Again, some must go personally to the heatlien, and 
thus open channels in pagan lands, in which shall flow the 
soul-healing waters of the heavenly Siloa. And it is to be 
lamented that so few of our pious young men devote them- 
selves to this great work. The zeal of the infatuated Jesuits 
has been tenfold more than that of Protestants. *' After my 
return to Europe," said one of their missionaries, " when 
my intention of seeking labourers for this vineyard was 
divulged, immediately there were so many candidates, that 
there is scarce a province of our society from which I have 
not received many letters, from several fathers, not only 
offering themselves, but earnestly requesting me to accept 
them as soldiers in this enterprise. In Portugal, from the 
two colleges of Coimbra and Ebora alone, I had a list of 
ninety persons so desirous to labour in this mission"'that 
many of them have sent me very long letters all written 
and signed iviih their own blood, witnessing, in this man- 
ner, that they had a holy courage that could despise the 
threats of martyrdom ; offering cheerfully to the Lord that 
little blood as a testimony of the great desire they had to 
shed it for his sake."* 

This work has a claim on every class of Christians. 
The work of evangelizing China and other pagan nations 
demands more than the labours of ministers and ordained 
missionaries. There must be teachers, physicians, mer- 
chants, in places, mechanics — Christian communities, who 
can employ all the various means by which the heathen 
may be influenced, and that they may have examples in 
bold relief of the redeeming influence of Christianity. Be- 
sides which, the pen must be kept at work, and new works 
written and published calculated to inform and improve the 
mind of China. The acquisition of a ^ood Chinese style 
is said to be difficult ; and unless the publications be drawn 
up in an intelligible and idiomatic form they will not be 
read. Such a habit of writing can only be the result of 
years of study. This subject appeals to men of property. 
There are men intrusted with vast wealth, \vho have no 

* Chinese Repository, vol. i. p. 487. 



A PLEA FOR CHINA. 233 

peculiar obstacles in the way of going even in person to 
pagan lands ; and how powerfully would their presence, 
counsels, prayers, and funds contribute to advance the 
Saviour's glory ! I see no good reason why men of wealth 
are entirely released from obligations of this sort; even if 
they give liberally, and preach the gospel by proxy. Has 
a man, born to a princely fortune or successful in acquirins^ 
one, any greater liberty to consult his pleasure in the dis- 
posal of himself and property than another ? 

The co-operation and influence of ladies are especially 
needed in this work. In many countries they alone have 
access to those of their own sex. The only one who ever 
resided at Siam was admitted wahin ihe palace walls, and 
among the numerous wives of the princes and chief men 
of the country. None but them can succeed in female and 
infant schools, in obtaining scholars, and instructing and 
advising mothers. The appeal to ladies is peculiarly 
affecting. It is the language of the degraded and miserable 
of more than half their sex. Ye ladies ! if the world ever 
be converted, and bloom all over with the trees of right- 
eousness, yours must be a prominent part in the grand 
achievement. Ye mothers ! the church looks to you to 
replenish with your daughters the army which the King 
of kings is to lead on through successive victory to the 
final conquest of the nations. 

The statesman has an interest in the success of missions. 
This enterprise opens new havens at the antipodes of th3 
earth for our fleets ; discloses new channels for our com- 
merce ; lays the foundation of more extensive trade. This 
cause furnishes an appeal to the philosopher. The mis- 
sionary has discovered new fields — traversed hitherto un- 
explored regions, and wilds never pressed by human foot- 
steps. It masters and reduces to a system languages 
hitherto unknown ; it adds new and interesting facts to the 
natural and moral history of man. It teaches philosophy 
that her dreams of ever correcting the evils and the way- 
ward perversities of human nature by reason are chimeri- 
cal. It affords illustrations of the power of Christianity to 
renovate human society, and to correct the evils of our 
nature ; to remove the fell purpose of revenge that rankles 
in the heart ; to arrest the duellist seeking the sylvan recess 
with the weapon of death in his haiid, and to cause him to 
drop his instrument of death, and to love his enemy ; to 

20* 



234 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

make a good man of the assassin that has lurked in the 
thicket for his prey ; to inspire the savage warrior, whose 
hands have been reddened with the blood of his foe, with 
the mild principles of the Prince of peace. 

Let then every friend of his race, and especially every 
Christian of our own land, from the far distant pines of the 
east to the prairies of the west, bestir himself to think and 
act for China and other heathen lands. Hiadostan has 
heard of the Redeemer, and flies to his standard. *'Bur- 
mah's deliverance is at hand." The islands of the sea 
have either received or are waiting for the law of God. 
The poor Indians scattered through our forests can tell 
*' what a precious Saviour they have found ;" burning 
Africa is beginning to throw off the mantle of heathenish 
superstition and ignorance ; O ! let infatuated China, which 
is beckoning to us for the gospel, be speedily furnished 
with the waters of eternal life. 

" Shall we, whose souls are lighted 

With wisdom from on high — 
Shall we, to men benighted. 

The lamp of Hfe deny]'*' 



No. X. 
THE MERCILESS CREDITOR. 

BY REV. GEORGE A. RAYBOLD, 

OF THE METHODIST EPISCOPAL CHURCH. 



I MENTION debt as one of the troubles of the family of 
Mr. Fagan. William had traded with the storekeeper of the 
village, and owed him a considerable sum, yet it was not any 
more than his property would doubly pay, at any time. 
Yet in the time of his sickness, he could not avoid this evil. 
The storekeeper was a member of the church — was con- 
stant in his attendance upon the means of grace — and was 
as faithful to his interests behind the counter. And the 
opinion may be safely indulged, that, if the interests of his 
soul had been guarded as carefully as those of his store, it 
would have been as rich in grace as his store in goods, or 
his coffers in cash. But he was a mere muckworm. He 
prided himself on rendering strict justice to all men, (accord- 
ing to his ideas of justice,) but mercy or compassion made 
no part of his composition. He was a very Diotrephes in 
prating and loving pre-eaiinence, and a very Demas in his 
pursuit of the things of this world. He would sell poison, 
in the shape of spirits, to a poor drunkard, if he could get 
the pay for it, but refuse the wife and children of that man 
bread to eat, if they referred to the father for pay. It may 
be said the times tolerated such procedure in business ; but 
this is a very great error. No time, no circumstance will 
justify a professor of piety in acts of inconsistency so 
glaring. 

William had traded with this individual for a longr time, 
and he paid him much money, for his goods. were sold at 
an enormous advance. Yet that brother in the church re- 
fused to credit William any longer when he became so sick, 

235 



236 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

helpless, and poor as to render it probable, in his view, that 
he might lose something. William urged the necesshy 
of his case — his former punctuality — the blessedness of as- 
sisting the needy, &c. ; but he might as well have reasoned 
with the iron box that was said to contain the wealth of this 
worshipper of mammon — this mocker of God. All the 
answer William obtained was a positive refusal, and a 
peremptory request to send an inventory of his property, 
and confess judgment for the amount due. And it is a fact 
that this was eventually done ; and property four times the 
value of the debt was placed in the storekeeper's power. 
William returned to his home and family, deeply laden with 
sorrow : he could only tell his wife what was done, and 
then retire to the little chamber where he was accustomed 
to pray in secret, and pour out his complaints to the Lord. 
And in his deepest distress the Lord blessed him, so that 
he praised God even in tribulation. 

The winter wind howled and moaned round the cottage 
in tones so doleful that it seemed as if some utterly aban- 
doned soul Vv^as giving utterance to the ravings of despair. 
The snow of December fell in large flakes, or was whirled 
about in eddies and drifts by the wind. Not a soul seemed 
to be stirring in the whole village ; not a solitary traveller 
ventured to face the angry elements. The leaden hue of 
the clouds added to the dreariness of the scene ; and the 
cottage of William Fagan was a scene of sorrow more 
dreary than that without. Isaac seemed sinking in death, — 
the meal and meat were nearly exhausted again : and Wil- 
liam retired to pray to that God who hears his creatures' cry, 
and who sends supplies in the proper times. In the midst 
of the* storm, the brother, of whom William had obtained 
assistance, drove his wagon to the door. — He entered i and 
a supply of flour and meat for the whole winter was brought 
in. With tears the family thanked the man whom God 
had made the instrument of their deliverance from want 
and all its woes. He heard the simple tale of their sorrows, 
and wept and prayed with them, and departed, ^.lled with 
the glorious joy imparted by a good deed done for his hea- 
venly Father. 

It was on the same gloomy day that the boy Isaac called 
to his father and requested to be lifted up. The father took 
up his skeleton form, and held him upon his knees. 

** Now let me look at the snow, father," said he. 



THE MERCILESS CREDITOR. 237 

William raised the child to the casement, and, after gaz- 
ing wistfully a moment, he said, 

'' Now lay me down." 

'* My dear," said the full-hearted father, ** are you will- 
ing to die, and go to God, and be among his angels ?" 

** Yes, father, I would rather go now." 

Before this day he had seemed rather unwilling to die, 
when conversed with on the subject of death. The father 
laid him upon the little bed and turned to get a drink for 
him. Not a moment had scarcely elapsed, yet Isaac, the 
beloved boy, was dying in violent convulsions. The ago- 
nized father held him until the first fit was over. He look- 
ed as with the eye of angelic innocence, and said, 

*' Hold me, father, hold me !" 

'* I will hold my dying darling," said William. 

" One more drink of water, father." 

It was given, and the father held the child until kind 
neighbours came and took the task of watching that in- 
nocent sufl^erer for twelve hours, ere his spirit w^as dis- 
lodged from its clay tenement. 

The mother, near to her confinement, was dreadfully 
agitated, and carried forcibly away from the dying boy; 
and as midnight's solemn hour witnessed the departure of 
Isaac's spirit, a son was born to that family. In that awful 
hour of deep feeling, when the living and the dead met in 
the same house, the father stood in awe, and said, 

'' It is the Lord ; behold, God is mighty ; let all fear and 
worship him." 

The sun shone beautifully on the pure white snow the 
day after the death of Isaac. He lay like a waxen image 
of boyish beauty in his little coflfin, and one after another 
of the neighbours came in, and the little playmates of Isaac 
walked up to the coffin, their serious looks indicating their 
sense of the solemnity of death. This was the day of 
burial. The procession formed ; and at its head walked 
the white-headed minister that had often smiled upon the 
little boy about to be buried, and exhorted him to be good. 
He happened to be in the village that day, and stayed to 
improve the solemn occurrence. In a few minutes they 
reached the village graveyard, and the firstborn of William 
Fagan w^as placed in the grave, while the aged minister said 
a few solemn words, and prayed for the little boys and 
girls that stood around the grave, that they might be ready 



238 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

to die also, — and for the parents, and for the afflicted fa- 
mily. And God's Spirit was there to bless the word, and 
to answer prayer. William returned home, more serious, 
it is true, but happier in his own mind, for he believed tliat 
God would always do right. 

'' I canuot bring the child back ; I shall go to him," 
he said. 

His wife endured the bereavement with a Christian 
woman's fortitude, and the cares of her infant served to 
occupy and divert her mind from the solemn scene. There 
was some stir among the church members, after the death 
scene had brought the state of the family to light, and many 
put their two widow's mites together in a quiet. Christian 
way, and made up a considerable sum of money. The 
third evening after the funeral a pious brother entered the 
cottage of Fagan, and, without insulting poverty by an 
ostentatious display of benevolence, presented the money 
the brethren had collected and sent by him. William re- 
ceived it as from God, but the storekeeper had no hand in 
the matter. 

The winter had passed away, and the time of the singing 
of birds and the budding of flowers had come ; and little 
Anna could play once more in the \yarm sunshine, or fondle 
her baby brother in the cradle. The mother, too, had as- 
sumed her wonted cheerfulness. Sometimes indeed a tear 
would fall, at the remembrance of the past, especially when 
she happened to take up some one of little Isaac's gar- 
ment^ or one of his playthings; but it passed away, and 
she thought, " The Lord gave, and for wise purposes 
he hath taken away ;" and she was comforied concerning 
her firstborn. The Christian father also again rejoiced 
in the goodness of God, as he remembered that in all 
his trials he had "come forth as gold ;" and his brethren's 
esteem and respect for him increased. With pleasure 
he went about his usual employment, and hope cheered 
his toil with the promise of complete emancipation from 
debt and temporal difficulties. But in the midst of liis 
dreams the adversary came in the person of his creditor, 
with the appalling cry, '* Pay that thou owest me !" The 
miserly storekeeper had promised to give him time to pay 
the money when the judgment was given; but the whip 
was now in his own hand. Did he design to get posses- 
sion of his debtor's property for the fourth of its value ? 



THE MERCILESS CREDITOR. 239 

We will leave this question unanswered, as it is by actions 
we are to judge — God alone judging of motives. 

William reasoned on the impropriety of the demand at 
that time. 

''Why," asked the creditor, ''is it not a just debt ? — 
all 1 want is my own." 

"Yes," replied William, "but justice untempered with 
mercy will be awarded to all such just men as you are. 
In the course of justice none of us should obtain salvation." 

But the storekeeper was not to be moved. Like the 
inexorable Jew, he insisted upon " his just demand." It 
would have been hard for him to say, 

" That mercy I to others show, 
That mercy show to me." 

William knew not what to do. A few days, if the mo- 
ney were not raised, would complete his temporal ruin. 
He did not rail at his brother. He added no reproach. 
The rebuke and the reproach came from other persons. 
Yet he did not despond : he prayed to God. ks William 
returned to his house, on the evening of the last day, 
except one, of his respite from the fangs of the law, he was 
deeply musing on his prospects, and saw no way of deli- 
verance, yet felt a strong degree of confidence that the 
Ijord would point out some way for him. And a wealihy 
gentleman, who resided in a town about twenty miles from 
t'ne village, was presented to his mind, and it seemed that 
the Spirit said, " Go to him." At first William reasoned 
thus : — 

" I have but a slight acquaintance with that man. True, 
he knows me as a member of the church, but he is not a 
member. Nevertheless, he is universally beloved, as the 
benefactor and friend of the poor and friendless, if they are 
worthy." And it seemed still that the voice in his own 
mind said, " Go to him." 

The next day, without consulting his companion, for it 
would have but added to her sorrow if he were disap- 
pointed, he told her he should not be at home until late in 
the evening. 

He found a conveyance, and started. Many were his 
fears and hopes, as he rapidly rode toward the place of his 
friend; but still, when his heart was lifted up to the Lord, 
the impression remained with all its force. He reached the 



240 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

house, and found Mr. at home, and alone in his 

office. He was, by profession, an attorney. William was 
received courteously, and the state of his family and the 
church ivindly inquired after. And then the gentleman 
asked if he could be of any service. William told the 
simple tale of his former comfortable circumstances, his 
sickness, and all the events which had occurred, even to the 

present painful difficulty about the debt. Mr. was 

moved by the artless recital, and said, 

'^ My good young friend, cheer up ; we can soon remove 

that difficulty. I will give you a note to Mr. M — , 

your creditor, and stop his proceedings. You may come 
to my house in a week's time, and you shall 'have the 
means to settle the demand." 

With tearful eyes William received the note to the village 
storekeeper ; and w^ith a soul full of love and gratitude to 
God, and God's instrument of deliverance, he rode rapidly 
home. 

It was late when he arrived, and his anxious and won- 
derinof wife was watchino^ his return; but how were all her 
fears turned to joy and praise to the Lord when the whole 
affair was made known to her! 

With a light heart and a quick step William entered the 
store the next morning. He was received with a very cool 

'* good morning." He handed Mr. 's note ; but how 

did the countenance and manner of the creditor change when 
he read the communication ! 

*' O ! certainly ; he takes the responsibility. Why, I did 

not know you were acquainted with Mr. — . You know, 

Brother Fagan, we men of business must be strict in order 
to get along. I am very sorry I was obliged to use you in 
this manner; but it was in the way of business, you know. 
So, brother, you must forget and forgive." 

" xVrcli hypocrite !" thought William, " how he brothers 
me now." And without remark he left the store and re- 
turned to his business. 



THE MERCILESS CREDITOR. 241 



Though fortune frowned, and faithful friends were few, 

Yet in the hour of trial one was true ; 

Unwavering faith to heaven wings its way, 

And gains that good for which the pious pray ; 

And watchful memory wakes and brings the bliss 

Of that blest hour, and throws it into this. MS, Poems. 

The day was delightful. The balmy breezes of summer 
seemed to fill every thing in nature with renovated life and 
joyousness. The birds sang in the trees, which were 
clothed in livery of the richest verdure, with a force and 
feeling that penetrated the pious heart ; and the green 
branches upon which the warblers perched, seemed, to the 
eye of piety, a faint symbol of the trees of paradise, where 
immortal fruits flourish, and where flowers never fade. 
The songs seemed like those inspiring strains which may 
be supposed to burst from those spirits of purity redeemed 
unto God, and seated among the sanctified in heaven, to be 
subject to the defilement of sin and the pangs of sorrow no 
more forever. The beasts of the field gambolled over the 
green meadows, as though delirious with delight, revelling 
in nature's rich and abundant provision. And man — crea- 
tion's lord — the miniature of his mighty Maker — man par- 
ticipated in the general joy ; for summer sat as queen among 
the seasons. 

" Earth set forth her jewels to honour the queen ; 

Her buds, blossoms, fruits, and her loveliest flowers ; 
And the forest, arrayed in its mantle of green, 
Sent homage in songs from its shadiest bowers.'* 

It was a day of holy gladness to William Fagan. Mr. 
, his friend, had presented the amount of money ne- 
cessary to pay the debt. It was given freely, without other 
security than a simple note, payable at a distant date, to be 
prolonged for years, if necessary. It was on this day that 
William returned from his friend's mansion, with the means 
of rescue from the grasp of the pitiless and rapacious 
wretch who was his creditor. The cottage of Fagan seemed, 
in the light and gladness of that day, to wear an appearance 
of more than usual neatness, comfort, and peace ; and as ha 
came nigh his heart was lifted to Heaven with feelings of 
unutterable gratitude to God, the faithful, unchangeable 
Friend of all who put their trust in him. The wife of Wil- 
liam participated in the joy of her husband, and thanked 
God for opening a door of deliverance, and pointing out a 

21 



. 242 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

way where there seemed *'no way." Even little Anna, 
though unable to comprehend the reason of her parents' 
rejoicing, was glad also, and laughed and jumped about with 
the greatest glee ; and the baby boy, who sat upon the cot- 
tage floor, surrounded with broken flowers and other play- 
things, smiled and endeavoured to spring into the arms of 
his father. But cheering as was this scene, we must pre- 
sent another feature thereof, which rendered it more deeply 
interesting to the pious soul. It was this pious family 
kneeling before the Lord, while the father poured out his 
acknowledgments to his best Friend, and prayed for bless- 
ings on his earthly friend, — not forgetting that individual 
who needed prayer most of all — the poor rich storekeeper. 
This delightful scene was produced by one little act of 
friendship and liberality on the part of a man, almost a 
stranger to this family, who, actuated by feelings of human- 
ity, stretched out his hand as God had given means, and 
relieved their distress. If this joy was theirs, what were 
the feelings of their benefactor? He knew that William 
was poor and his means limited, but he hesitated not. A 
stranger to similar deeds will never know the joy of such 
a deed. The pleasures of benevolence are only known to 
the benevolent heart. Covetousness, actuated by caution, 
may pass such scenes with a sneer, but charity rejoiceth in 
doing good. It may be said, '^ This was a trifle for a man 
of wealth to bestow." But how is it that such " trifles" 
are sometimes withheld from the truly worthy, who, poor 
and oppressed beneath the foot of the proud, send out their 
cries upon the winds of heaven ? But even some of the 
pious rich heed them not. The cold-blooded caution that 
suflfers a brother to want is detestable ; and it is but cove- 
tousness in disguise ; a demon, upon whose idolatrous altar 
souls are sacrificed. 

The debt was paid to the inexorable merchant ; and Wil- 
liam was again at liberty to pursue his occupation, unmo- 
lested by duns and debts. No more visions of unmerciful 
creditors, or ruined hopes, haunted his nightly slumbers, 
nor obtruded upon his daily thoughts and devotional hours. 
Those acquainted with church aflfairs may inquire, " Why 
was not the conduct of this individual, the merchant, in- 
vestigated ?" It was. But he had used no " unchristian 
words," had indulged no " unchristian tempers," had vio- 
lated no express '* law," that would expel him from the com- 



THE MERCILESS CREDITOR. 243 

munion of the church ; and therefore he went unpunished, 
save by the odium attached to his conduct. When the case 
and all the circumstances became known, the affair excited 
the wags of the village to nickname him " Shylock." With 
what justice this appellation was bestowed the day of eter- 
nity will disclose. 

The next important business in the mind of William was 
some satisfaction to the brother who had, through storm, 
and snow, and cold, come to his relief, and brought provi- 
sions for his family. The family, in more prosperous 
days, did not forget their days of darkness and their last 
hard crust of mouldy bread. It served as a text for years, 
upon w^hich the father of the family would expatiate, to 
show that the Lord still loves those whom he chasteneth, 
and sends deliverance in the distressing hour. Deeply mys- 
terious as his ways may be, he is still good to all that call 
upon him. For, 

Deep in unfathomable mines 

Of never-failing skill, 
He treasures up his bright designs, 

And works his sovereign will." 

Yes : and '* all things work together for good to them that 
love God" — that are the " called according to his purpose." 
A thousand ways has Providence to bring his designs about ; 
and in the end man will see that " there hath not any thing 
failed" of all that the Lord promised. Soon after the last 
event recorded William embraced the opportunity of visit- 
ing his kind brother in grace. He found him diligently 
engaged in the little farm he possessed ; which, though 
barely sufficient to supply the wants of a large family, yet, 
by industry and frugality, was, with the blessings of God, 
a goodly heritage ; and he was in the habit of doing more 
for the cause of God and the poor than many with four 
times his means. No application for assistance was 
by him rejected, no suppliant was ever turned empty away. 
He would divide his bread with the hungry, and his cloth- 
ing with the naked ; and the Lord blessed him " in his 
basket and in his store." His " soul was larger than his 
house or purse." 

The conversation between William and his friend was 
of God and spiritual things, until the hour came for the 
visiter's departure. He then, in grateful terms, referred to 
his obligations to the brother, and wished to know what 



244 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

sum would repay him. His friend looked at William for 
a moment, and said, 

" Brother, I have charged that to the Lord. It was done 
at his command. You owe me nothing. He that lendeth 
to the Lord, you know, shall be repaid. I am poor, like 
yourself, but I had it to spare, and I could not shut up my 
bowels of compassion against a brother in need. But what 
is that between thee and myself? Go and do likewise, 
brother Fagan, when you meet one in distress." 

He would not listen to thanks, but shaking William 
heartily by the hand, he said, 

*^ Peace be with you, brother." 

William could only thank God for this new instance of 
divine goodness, and he returned to bless God, and, like 
David, to bless his house. 

The soft, clear light of a summer moon lay iii silent 
radiance around the cottage. As William approached, his 
wife and little ones welcomed his coming ; and their simple 
repast was sweetened by a recital of the goodness of God 
in all his dealings with them. The supper being over, a 
few neighbours dropped in, and a season of religious con- 
verse and Avorship followed. Prayer was offered in fervent 
faith, and the songs of Zion, in musical tones, ascended on 
the still night air like costly incense from the golden censer. 
Listening angels might have caught the strains, and, without 
a pause or blush, coaveyed and presented to heaven's 
gracious Sovereign the " prayers and praises of these 
saints," 



No. XL 

STRIKING COINCIDENCES. 

BY RT. REV. B. B. SMITH, 

RECTOR ST. STEPHEN'S CHURCH, MIDDLEBURY, VT. 



Late of a dreary winter's evening I was called upon to 
attend the last hours of a highly gifted young man in 

A , Va., whom, for a short time, I had known as the 

betrothed of one of the most splendid young ladies in my 
parish, but over whose high promise of intellectual and 
professional distinction his friends had long been weeping, 
in the sad conviction that he was the victim of consumption. 
The night closed in darkly and drearily around the country 
mansion where we were sheltered from the storm, but all 
was peace and hope within. Suffering, blessed by the 
Spirit of God, had taught that young man the way to the 
Saviour. He had only time to express his hope, and I to 
commend his soul to God, before he peacefully closed his 
eyes, to open them upon such scenes no more forever. 

Here I heard of the sudden and extreme illness of the 
father of his betrothed. A ride of some weary miles, the 
next morning, found me by the side of his sick-bed. What 
a scene ! His herculean frame, which had endured the 
hardness of a good soldier through the whole of that event- 
ful struggle which gave independence to the colonies, was 
supported erect by pillows. His manly and noble counte- 
nance was scarlet, almost to blackness, under the rage of 
the fever which consumed him. At every respiration his 
whole frame was perfectly convulsed. His trembling hand 
was penning his last will and testament. His agonized 
family were in tears around ; and neighbours and domestics 
were hurrying to and fro in the utmost consternation. One 
intense anxiety filled the mind of the dying man — the ad- 
justment of his affairs — the parting from his family. For 
a moment I endeavoured to direct his thoughts to more 
momentous themes, and to calm all hearts by the voice of 
prayer. Exhausted by emotion I quit the dwelling, so 
soon to be left desolate. 

In a few days I pronounced the last offices of the church 
over this respected veteran, on the one bank of the little 

21* 245 



246 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

stream upon which his beautiful mansion was built, on the 
afternoon of the same clay upon which, in the morning, I 
had been engaged in the same service on the opposite side 
of the stream, over the remains of a companion in arms, 
born the same year, in sight of his father's house ; who 
entered the army of the revolution with him, served to the 
end of the war in the same regiment, retired with him to 
neighbouring farms, lived near him on the most friendly 
terms to a good old age, was seized nearly at the same 
hour, with the same disease, which proved fatal to both 
within the same twenty-four hours ; and they were interred 
the same day, by the same officiating clergyman, in graves 
so near that the notes of the mocking-bird above the grave 
of the one could be heard sweetly floating across the gentle 
stream, far beyond the spot where his companion in arms 
was laid in his long and honoured repose. 

As I rode home, full of solemn reflections on the vanity 
of life, and on the wonderful ways of Him who holds its 
destinies in his hands, I was joined by a friend from a dis- 
tant part of the county, who had rode many miles to pay 
his last respects to the more honoured of the departed. 
He spoke with deep emotion of his own religious hopes. 
On the next occasion of public worship, feeble in health as 
I was, I had travelled through a severe snow-storm eight 
miles, to meet an appointment at the venerable parish church 
in his neighbourhood, and the only person I found at the 
door was this same friend. 1 hardly knew how to interpret 
his first address to me, that, returning from the funeral the 
other day, he had thought of the text upon which he wished 
me to preach his funeral sermon. Simply remarking that 
he, vigorous as he then was in health, was far more likely 
to attend me to my grave, than I to solemnize his funeral 
rites, I nevertheless alighted, at his request, to consult the 
good old church Bible for chapter and verse. (Tsa. xii. 2.) 
Upon recovering from a slight relapse, the result of this 
day's exposure, I received the sad notice that my services 
were required to commit the body of this beloved friend to 
the grave, which I did, after preaching in great weakness 
of body from the text prescribed. All this was the more 
remarkable, as this friend was the very first person to wel- 
come me, even before landing, to the house of his father- 
in-law, whose funeral sermon I preached exactly four Sun- 
days after that on which I had been welcomed at landing 
to his hospitable roof. Such are parts of the ways of God. 



No. XII. 

THE MORAL INFLUENCE OF POPULAR DESCRIP- 
TIONS OF BATTLE SCENES. 

BY MARCUS E. CROSS. 



In speaking of the moral influence of descriptions of 
battle scenes, we miglit bring to view their influence on 
a nation's morality. We might show that they breathe a 
spirit, and inculcate sentiments which are calculated to shed 
a blighting influence over piety, and impart to their votary 
a hardihood of spirit which can look upon human suffering 
with cold indifTerence. 

But we choose to pass over this and other kindred views 
of the subject, and confine ourselves to the illustration of 
this simple truth, — Descriptions of battle scenes create and 
foster a warlike spirit. 

Perhaps it may be pertinent here to premise, that v/e do 
not deny but that these descriptions, given as they should 
be, may exert a beneficial moral influence, and encourage 
the mild principles of the Prince of peace. V/hen pre- 
sented in their true colours, they represent them as the thea- 
tres upon which are acted out all that is dark^ malignant^ 
and cruel in human feelings and fiendish in human purpose. 
They present human nature in an aspect, compared with 
which, the most savage beasts that roam the forest and 
the deadliest reptiles that crawl upon the earth may well 
be esteemed innocent. For the former can den together on 
terms of friendship, and the latter never seek the destruction 
of their species. But man, with shame be it said, in a mili- 
tary aspect, exults in shedding the blood of his fellow, and 
reaps from it, instead of merited infamy, a harvest of im- 
mortal laurels ! 

Viewed in this light, the soul recoils with horror from 
the bloody scene. But we claim that these descriptions, 
as they are usually given in the wildness of poetic license, 
and even in the more sober delineations of history, carry a 
false impression to the mind of the reader. In these, poetry 
lends all her charms, genius and eloquence all their magic 
power, to portray the hero on the battle field, not as he 

247 



248 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

should be, as the ruthless murderer of his species, but as a 
glorious champion worthy the oaken garland, or " prima 
hederae victricis premia." 

Our position that these descriptions increase a warlike 
spirit, is sustained, first, from the consideration that they 
make warriors. The passion for glory exerts an influence 
on the human mind paramount to almost any other. It 
would seem, by reading the recitals of battles, that glory 
could be acquired only by valorous daring on the field ol' 
battle. In these descriptions, as they are usually sketched 
by the hand of misguided genius, every thing is calculated 
to create an illusion for the youthful mind, — to dispel the 
horrors of war by the glory of the parade, and the attract- 
ive splendour of the attendant circumstances. 

In such recitals, one sees all that is alluring in the battle 
in miniature, while all that is sickening to refined and ele- 
vated feelings is carefully concealed. He sees the two 
armies drawn up in battle array. An emotion of sublimity 
comes over the mind as he gazes upon these bannered 
legions with nodding plumes, streaming banners, and bur- 
nished steel. — as he drinks in the strains of martial music, 
and hears the thunder of cannon. While death is thicken- 
ing along the ranks of the conflicting armies, the groans of 
the dying are hushed, and all the horrifying barbarities of 
the scene — an adequate report of which the judgment-day 
alone can unfold — are thrown into the shade by other con- 
siderations. After successive charges, one of the armies 
shouts the paean of victory. The victorious general is 
crowned with laurels. He marches into his native city 
under triumphal arches, greeted with thunders of applause. 
Poets sing his praises, and a monument of eternal granite 
tells his name to future generations. 

How many a youth, while reading such descriptions, has 
soliloquized, *'This is the orbit in which I will move to 
draw around my memory a posthumous glory." He burns 
for the hero's distinction, and a place in the recollections of 
posterity for his valorous daring, and coolness, and presence 
of mind in the foremost of the chivalrous combatants. 
Many examples of the influence which we have portrayed 
on youthful minds might be presented. Only one I will 
cite, and that is the hero in whose presence it is said that 
the world was awed to silence. Alexander's quenchless 
thirst for martial glory was first created by reading Homer's 



DESCRirTIONS OF BATTLE SCENES. 24 9 

Iliad. Ill this, he found a mirror in vvh.ich was reflected 
the world of battle and heroes in glowing colours. Homer 
struck a chord that vibrated in unison with the primitive 
feelings of man. 

Our position is sustained further, from a consideration of 
the national character these descriptions are fitted to produce. 

A nation's character will partake much of the nature of 
its literature. This is a kind of thermometer by which the 
character of an enlightened community, nay its very moral- 
ity, may be determined. Lycurgus understood tliis when 
he directed all his efforts to make the Spartans a nation of 
warriors. To effect this, he regarded it as an object of 
primary importance to introduce to the people the Poems 
of Homer. They were delighted with his delineations of 
the warrior, and determined to be warriors. 

How extensively must a warlike spirit be created and 
cherished in that community, where there is a free circula- 
tion of that literature which chants in inspiring strains the 
glories of war, though the pathway of the conqueror be 
paved with human bones, and crimsoned with human gore ; 
which sets up as models for imitation blood-thirsty warriors, 
and makes human nature most glorious when most skilful 
in human butchery ; especially, when we consider that 
these descriptions are written with all the fascinations of 
poetic imagery and emotion. 

Thus written, they enter the memcri/, they seize hold 
of the feelings, the soul of the nation. It gradually ac- 
quires a fixed warlike character. This developes itself in 
scouting the idea of redressing any national grievance but 
by the blood of its foe, — in feeling a national insult with 
such extreme sensibility, that whenever the least cause of 
disaffection arises, either from internal or external causes, 
with a recklessness of consequences, it is ready to rush at 
once to deeds of carnage and blood. In such a communit}^ 
the aspiring chieftain has only to blow the trumpet of war, 
and the mild arts of peace give way to the clangor of arms 
and the horrors of bloody revolution. France furnishes a 
melancholy example of such a national character. We 
see it breaking out in revolutions. We recognise it on the 
plains of Waterloo in the destruction of one of the most 
gallant armies that ever ravaged Europe. 

Our own nation has too much of the same spirit, created, 
in a great measure, we apprehend, by our warlike literature. 



No. XIII. 

THE GLORY OF THE SAVIOUR CONTRASTED 
WITH THAT OF EARTHLY CONQUERORS. 

BY R. BABCOCK, D. D. 



Do you understand clearly in what the Saviour's glory 
consists ? You have many times heard him called a great 
captain, a mighty conqueror ; and these are hio true appel- 
lations. The danger is, that your mind will be led to 
associate v/ith this character of the Redeemer, that kind of 
glory of which the captains and conquerors of earth are 
usually so emulous. I beg of you, therefore, to notice 
the wide difference between them. 

These ambitious leaders among men are often seen, — 
as Jesus was on this occasion, — drawing near to a certain 
city. They, too, are followed by a multitude, but it is not 
a peaceful and humble train, crying Hosanna to the Son of 
David. No: they lead forth bands of armed warriors, 
maddened by excitement, enraged as far as possible against 
those whom they had never seen, and ready to imbrue their 
hands in the blood of their fellow-men. For what purpose 
do these captain-generals, with their beleaguering hosts, 
come near to that city ? Why, they come there to make 
widows more numerous and more wretched! They come 
not to give life or spare life ; but to take the lives, especially 
of young men, away ; to make the hearts of survivors 
throb with anguish more intolerable, and to cause their 
tears more copiously and bitterly to flow. 

When was it ever found consistent with their glory to 
comfort the widow, to wipe away her tears, to spare for 
life and usefulness the dying son ? 

Now Avhen you contrast the conduct of the Saviour, in 
this instance, with theirs, are you not constrained to feel 
that His is the higher glory ? Would it not be a source of 

250 



THE GLORY OF THE SAVIOUR. 251 

more pure and lasting joy to you, to have imitated the be- 
nevolence and compassion of the Son of God, than, with 
those so unlike him, to wade through tears and blood, to 
grasp the fleeting honours which deck the warrior's brow ? 
Talk as men will in the mad rage of their infatuated am- 
bition, there is more true glory in goodness than in what 
has been too long miscalled greatness. And this is the 
glory of our Lord : He is mighty to save. His power in- 
deed is infinite ; but in his embassy to our lost world it was 
all put forth, not to destroy, but to heal, — to make alive. 
He came to cheer the saddened heart, to calm the fearful, 
troubled spirit, to give peace to the wretched soul, and sure, 
free pardon, with hope eternal, to the guilty and the dying. 

While your thoughts dwell on these favours which he 
bestows, do not lose sight cf another peculiarity which dis- 
tinguishes the glory of the Saviour. Other leaders gain 
their high renown by the blood and sufferings of their sub- 
ordinate followers, who frequently remain unnoticed and 
unknown. Without pain or personal exposure, they build 
up the splendid celebrity of their name and honours by the 
toils and sacrifices of thousands and millions of their fellow- 
men. O how unlike the character of the Captain of our 
salvation! who ''came not to be ministered unto, but to mi- 
nister, and to give his life a ransom for many." 

It is his glory that he spares his followers, and for them 
fights the battles, receives the wounds and death, and pro- 
cures the triumph and victory, and .then freely welcomes 
them to share with Him its infinite bliss. How unalloyed 
the purity, how self-sacrificing the methods and instrum.en- 
talities, — how diffusive and free the benevolence of the 
Saviour's glory ! 



No. XIV. 

EVIDENCE OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD, 
FROM THE LIGHT OF NATURE. 

BY MARCUS E. CROSS. 



The existence of God is the fundamental principle of 
natural and revealed religion. It is the broad and deep 
foundation on which Cliristianity erects her fair and sym- 
metrical superstructure. Admit this truth, and v/e have an 
object of adoration and thanksgiving worthy the supreme 
homage of the immortal mind : then the Bible is not a 
dream ; then the universe is governed by infinite wisdom 
and power. But to deny it would introduce greater dark- 
ness and confusion in the moral world, than in the natural 
to blot the sun from ihe material universe. 

There are two methods of argumentation to prove the 
existence of God, viz. : the necessary nature of our ideas, 
and the structure of the universe. They are both predi- 
cated on one common principle or idea, that every effect, 
or every thing that begins to be, must trace its origin to 
some adequate source or cause. The former of these 
methods is technically denominated, the argument a priori ; 
and the latter, the argument a posteriori ; or, in other 
words, the one is the scientific and metaphysical method, 
and the other the popular method. The argument a priori 
infers the effect from the cause. It supposes that in the 
nature of things, and from the necessity of the case, some- 
thing must have existed prior and antecedent to all other 
beings and things, whose existence is predicated from the 
existence of that first cause. 

The argument a posteriori infers the cause from the 
eff'ect, and proves the existence of God from the exhibitions 
of intelligence and power in the works of creation. It is 
an ascending process, rising from effects to their causes. 
It is a far more natural, oimple, and conclusive method of 
proving this truth than the argument a priori ^ which, it 
must be confessed, requires a great degree of mental 

252 



EVIDENCE OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 253 

acumen to comprehend the reasoning without great mental 
abstraction and laborious effort. 

The existence of God may be proved a priori by the 
following method: It may be assumed as an undeniable 
position, that either there has always existed an unchange- 
able, independent being, from whom all other beings derived 
their origin ; or else there has been an infinite succession 
of changeable, dependent beings, produced one from another 
in an endless succession. We need only examine the idea 
of an eternal succession to perceive its futility and absolute 
impossibility. The infinite progression of one entire, end- 
less series of beings can have no cause of existence foreign 
from itself; because in it are supposed to be all things that 
are, or ever were, in the universe. Nor can it derive its 
existence from any thing within itself; because no one 
being in this infinite succession is supposed to be self- 
existent, or necessary, but every one dependent on the 
foregoing. An infinite succession, therefore, of mere de- 
pendent beings, without any original, independent cause, is 
a series of beings that has neither necessity nor cause of 
existence either within or ivithout itself. It amounts, there- 
fore, to an absurd contradiction, and is utterly impossible. 
^It supposes something to be caused, and yet it is caused 
absolutely by nothing. We may, in view of this position, 
adopt the language of the poet : — 

" Had there e'er been naught, naught still had been ; 
Eternal these must be." 

To suppose an infinite succession of changeable beings, 
produced one from another in an endless progression, with- 
out any original cause at all, is only to push back the in- 
quirer from one step to another, in order to evade the main 
point at issue, viz. the original cause of all things. 

" Suppose," says an ingenious author, " a chain hung 
down out of the heavens from an unknown height; and 
tliough every link of it gravitated towards the earth, and 
what it hung upon was not visible ; yet it did not descend, 
but kept its situation ; and upon this a question should 
arise. What supported or kept the chain ? would it be a 
sufficient answer to say, that the first or lowest link hung 
upon the second, or that next above it ; the second, of rather 
the first and second, upon the third ; and so on ad infinitum ? 
For what holds up the whole ? A chain of ten links would 

22 



254 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

fall down unless something able to bear it hindered. One 
of twenty, if not stayed by something of a yet greater strength 
in proportion to the increase of weight ; and therefore one 
of infinite links certainly, if not sustained by something 
infinitely strong, and capable of bearing up an infinite 
weight. And thus it is in a chain of causes and effects 
tending or gravitating towards some end ; the last or lowest 
depends, or is suspended upon the cause above it. This 
again, if it be not the first cause, is suspended upon a still 
higher one. And if they should be infinite, unless there 
is some cause upon which all hang or depend, they would 
be but an infinite effect, without an efficient. And to say 
there is any such thing v/ould be as great an absurdity as 
to say a finite or little weight wants something to sustain 
it, but an infinite one, or the greatest, does not." 

From the foregoing reasoning, we see the necessity of 
referring the existence of all things to an original, inde- 
pendent, first cause. The being that has created all other 
beings must have existed from eternity; must be self-exist- 
ent. The true idea of self-existence is the idea of a being 
the supposition of whose not existing is an express contra- 
diction. Whatever exists must have come into being out 
of nothing, or it must have been produced by an external 
cause, or it must be self-existent. If there had ever been 
a time when no being existed, there w^ould have been no 
reason why any being ever should have existed. We can- 
not conceive it possible for any thing to be produced from 
nothing. This was the sentiment of the ancients, and 
alike consonant with reason and common sense. 

To have been produced by an external cause cannot 
possibly be true of all things. But something must have 
existed originally to produce other things. Something 
must have existed eternally and independently. The ori- 
ginal then of all things must be self-existent — must exist 
by an absolute necessity in the thing itself. This self- 
existent, eternal being cannot be matter, or the material 
universe. 

The great point in dispute between atheists and theists 
is, Whether the eternal being is possessed of intelligence 
and power. There are many atheists who are willing to 
admit that something has existed from eternity. The fol- 
lowers of Epicurus, while they maintained that the universe 
is formed by the fortuitous concourse of atoms, felt the 



EVIDENCE OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 255 

necessity of admitting that atoms had moved in infinite 
space from eternity. The ancient Hylozoists ascribed life 
and understanding to matter, whereby it formed itself into 
regular systems. Some modern atheists acknowledge a 
sort of necessary perception in the deity ; meaning by the 
deity the universal substance, as they call it ; that is, the 
entire system of things. 

We wish to combat directly the idea of atheists, that 
matter can be self-existent. Now, to suppose matter self- 
existent, it must be an absurdity to suppose its non-exist- 
ence or annihilation, or to suppose it changeable, or capable 
of existing in any other state or form. But we are sensi- 
ble that though philosophy has not found out a method of 
annihilating matter, yet it is easy to conceive of its annihi- 
lation. We are certain, also, that matter undergoes nu- 
merous changes and revolutions. Whatever is self-existent 
must be immutable in its nature ; it must exist from neces- 
sity. But when we contemplate matter — its form, its 
motion, the ivhole, or a part — they are all extremely 
fluctuating, arbitrary, and dependent. Matter then cannot 
be the eternal, self-existent being. 

From the foregoing reasoning we deduce the following 
conclusions : — That sometliing has existed from eternity ; 
that that eternal being cannot be matter or the universe, and 
that, therefore, there is a God, underived, self-existent, 
the Author of all things that exist. 

I have already partially anticipated a very conclusive 
argument, w^hich I will state more distinctly in this con- 
nexion. The foundation of this argument is the existence 
of ourselves and other parts of the universe. We have a 
positive knowledge and consciousness of our existence, and 
of the existence of other parts of the universe, derived from 
the incontrovertible evidence of our senses. Here are facts 
which are unquestionable to our minds, and if ten thousand 
atheists should deny them, it would not in the least invali- 
date to our minds this palpable evidence. We therefore con- 
clude that something has existed from eternity ; for nothing 
is clearer, than that if we could conceive of a time when no 
being existed, it would have been impossible that we or any 
other beings should have existed. Beings could not make 
themselves, nor could they have sprung up by chance, for 
chance is merely a term expressive of our ignorance of the 
cause. It is therefore clear, from the fact of our own exist- 



256 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

ence, that something must have existed from eternity, suffi- 
ciently wise and powerful to produce the mighty effects 
which we see in the universe. 

Our next is a posteriori argument, founded on the proofs 
of design and contrivance in the universe. 

It is a dictate of plain common sense, and a sentiment 
entitled to universal credence, that where there are clear 
and incontestible marks of design, there must have been a 
designer, possessing intelligence adequate to the production 
of the effect or design in question. It is impossible for 
any one to survey the visible creation with any degree of 
care, without perceiving marks of design, ends aimed at, 
and means employed to accomplish those ends. We need 
not go beyond our si?nple selves to trace the clearest evi- 
dences of infinite wisdom. Take the eye, for instance, and 
compare it with the telescope. There is nothing in the 
telescope to assist vision, which we do not find still more 
curious in the eye. There is just as good evidence that 
the eye was made for vision, as there is that the telescope 
was made to assist it. They are made on the samejorinci- 
ples, both being adjusted to the laws by which the trans- 
mission and refraction ofrays of light are regulated. The 
ear, too, exhibits the same evidence of its being designed as 
an organ of conveying sound. The lungs are adapted to 
respiration ; the stomach for the reception and digestion of 
food ; the arteries and veins for conveying the blood from 
the heart to every extremity of the system ; the nerves to 
propagate feeling and motion. So perfect is the evidence 
of design, and contrivance, and of adaptedness of means to 
ends in these, and in innumerable other instances, that we 
might with far less absurdity suppose millions of alphabet- 
ical characters to fall of themselves into a well written 
poem ; or that all the pictures in a gallery of paintings were 
produced by a few random brushes from the hand of a mere 
tyro in the fine arts ; or that this great city of the hmnor- 
tal Penn^ with its regular streets, its splendid and stately 
structures ; its dwellings furnished with taste and elegance, 
sprung into existence spontaneously, without a directing 
mind, than to suppose these works of nature were not the 
product of infinite intelligence and design. 

If we observe the heavenly bodies, the evidences of a 
designing, directing mind, are very apparent and luminous. 
The order ^ the variety^ the uniformity^ the beauty, and the 



EVIDENCE OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 257 

harmony of the heavenly bodies, all speak most eloquently 
of infinite wisdom and power. Order, heaven's first law, 
reigns amid all the complexity of the heavenly spheres, and 
no discordant notes jar or grate on the ear to disturb its 
unceasing music. We observe, too, evidence of design, in 
the agreeable and immense variety resulting from the form 
of those bodies, and the laws by which they are governed. 
In the daytime, the sun illuminates all things, and pre- 
sents to us a spectacle of unequalled grandeur. At night, 
the sun is withdrawn, and numberless lesser lights, and the 
moon with her pale, borrowed light, appear. The diurnal 
revolution of the earth produces the variety occasioned by 
night and day, and its annual revolution, that occasioned by 
the seasons. The evidences of design are no less striking 
in the uniformity of the operations of nature. The laws 
of design are limited, and in the same circumstances will 
always produce the same effects : but chance is fickle, it has 
no laws, no rule of operation, if it can operate at all. The 
laws of nature are uniform. The heavens have the same 
aspect now that they had when we first gazed upon them. 
The sun. the moon, and the stars, hold their places, and 
move on in their appointed courses without the least infrac- 
tion of the laws that govern them. The planets, retaining 
their orbits by an invisible agency, perform their revolu- 
tions from age to age, in circles, emblematical of eternity, 
dispensing light and heat from the inexhaustible fountain 
to the extremities of the solar system. Whence originated 
those laws o^ uniformity in the midst of such variety^ if not 
from an infinite mind ? 

If we contemplate the ^& fv k±) a^xa; of the ancients, the 
regular, the beautiful, and the harmonious in nature, we 
must irresistibly be conducted to a similar conclusion. 
There is no region in the universe within the range of our 
knowledge, — the heavens, the earth, the sea ; no being into 
whose structure we inquire, but what exhibits a beautiful 
design — a perfect adaptedness to some end ; a skill and 
artifice in its internal workmanship, that throws altogether 
into the shade the most masterly exhibitions of human art. 
Well may we adopt the eloquent language of Brown : — 
" The universe is but a spectacle of relations adapted to 
certain ends. From the greatest masses that roll through 
space, to the slightest atom that forms one of its impercep- 

22* 



258 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

lible elements, every thing is conspiring to some design. 
It is one universal design, or an infinity of designs P^ 

So convincing is the argument for the existence of Deity 
in the works of nature, that the reason why it does not 
strike us with irresistible force and admiration, is its com- 
monness and our familiarity with it. Our knowledge of 
these works is acquired by such slov/ degrees, and its acqui- 
sition hindered by so many interruptions, that a great pro- 
portion of its effect is lost upon us. The immortal Cow- 
per understood this when he said : 

*' Should God again, 

As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 

Of the undeviating and punctual sun, 

How would the world admire! But speaks it less 

An agency divine, to make him know 

His moment, when to sink, and when to rise, 

Age after age, than to assist his course 1 

All we behold is miracle, but seen 

So duly, all is miracle in vain." 

If a view of the universe were to burst suddenly upon us, 
after the full development of our reason^ we should be 
awed by the unrivalled grandeur of the spectacle ; we should 
not hesitate a moment to acknowledge that the wisdom and 
power of the Creator are stamped in lines of eternal bright- 
ness on all his works. Nay, if we could see the visible 
hand of Deity inscribing in blazing capitals on the arches 
of the sky, — 

" The hand that made us is divine ! 
Nature is but a name for an effect, 
Whose cause is God," 

it would scarcely exhibit a clearer trace of their divine ori- 
gin, than would be seen in those very works themselves. 
We should be incapable of refusing our homage to the eter- 
nal Being, whose wisdom had planned, and whose power 
had produced a system of such magnitude and grandeur. 
We should be ready to unite in the exclamation of the 
immortal bard : 

" And yet was every faltering tongue of man, 
Almighty Father ! silent in thy praise ; 
7^hy works themselves would raise a general voice, 
Even in the depths of solitary woods, 
13y human foot untrod, proclaim thy power, 
And to the choir celestial, T//ee resound, 
Th' eternal caii^sej support, and end of all !" 



EVIDENCE OF THE EXISTENCE OF GOD. 259 

My next argument will be deduced from the general con- 
sent of mankind. There is a general concurrence among all 
nations in the belief of a Supreme Being, thus indicating 
either that there is an idea of God implanted in the human 
mind by nature, or that it is a sentiment so readily acquired 
from tlie works of creation, and so congenial to the mind, 
that its acquisition becomes intuitive and universal. 

These concurrent sentiments of men point to truth and 
utility. We prove the iiniversality of this concurrence from 
the history of man. It will be generally conceded on all 
hands, that this truth is admitted by all nations and indi- 
viduals, so far as human investigation has extended, with 
only a few exceptions. No nation can be found, or tribe 
of human beings, not even the Indians of the western wilds, 
or the savage Hottentot, but what has some ideas of a Su- 
preme Being or Great Spirit, who presides over the affairs 
of the universe. These ideas are more or less correct and 
consonant with reason and Scripture, in proportion to the 
degree of knowledge and refinement in the nation in 
question. 

It does not invalidate this position, that there are some 
atheists who deny the existence of God. For in the first 
place, it is not certain that they do really believe as they 
pretend. And, in the second place, if they do believe it, it 
only teaches this valuable lesson, that the human mind may 
be so poisoned by sophistry, so depraved by error, and so 
blinded by prejudice, as to almost blot out some of its ori- 
ginal sentiments. 

Nor does it weaken the argument to assert that some 
tribes have been found utterly destitute of ideas of God and 
religion. For such assertions have generally been made on 
quite insufficient evidence. They have generally been made 
by persons incompetent to judge correctly and impartially. 
Their opinions have been founded upon mere hearsay, and 
the reports of more enlightened and wary travellers have 
pronounced them unjust and unfounded. But admitting 
the truth of these opinions, it does not materially weaken 
the argument, for it is readily conceded that there may be 
human beings found whose reason is almost obliterated, and 
who diflTer but little in intellectual capacity from the brutes. 
These may be unaffected by truths, readily apprehended 
and felt by every reflecting mind. 

It cannot be denied, but that even the grossest idolaters 



260 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

have universally admitted the general principle that there 
is a nature superior to man, whose wisdom and power have 
arranged the universe in its present form. The Greeks 
and Romans had their Zgy? and Jupiter; described by the 
latter as hominum Sator, atque Deorum, I cannot express 
my views clearer on this point than in the nervous language 
of Cicero. " What nation is there, or race of men, which 
does not entertain some notion of God prior to instruction ? 
When, therefore, this opinion is not established by instruc- 
tion, or custom, or law, and all without exception firmly 
assent to it, it is necessary to understand that there are gods, 
since we have implanted knowledge of them. It is neces- 
sary that that in which all agree should be true." 

The existence of God may receive further collateral evi- 
dence from the history of human affairs ; from numerous 
instances of retributive justice, indicating an invisible 
Judge ; from miracles and prophecy, assuming the facts 
proved by the evidence of history ; from the terror and 
dread which wound men's consciences when guilty of crimes 
which other men do not know, as in the case of Nero, Do- 
mitian and others, endeavouring to persuade themselves and 
others that there is no God. 

In conclusion, I may say, we may rejoice in the truth 
of the proposition, *' There is a God," and also in thelumi- 
nousness of the evidence to support that proposition, aside 
from revelation. " There is a God, and therefore night 
is clothed with a starry garb and distils on our eyelids the 
blessings of repose ; and day comes with the rod of its 
power unveiling the face of nature and opening the sources 
of joy. There is a God, and therefore love still warms our 
spirits, and animates us yet more and more. There is a 
God of the present, and therefore our earth runs its course 
through the heavens, and marks its periods of revolution, 
until the purposes of beneficence are accomplished. There 
is a God of the future inhabiting eternity, and never shall 
the light of his countenance cease to smile on creation until 
tlie voice from his throne is heard to diffuse a happiness 
through the ranks of the righteous, " which eye hath not 
seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived ;" and 
to thunder the terrors of his avenorino^ law on the ears of his 
guilty foes. 



No. XV. 
SEAMEN THE BEST MISSIONARIES, 



It is a feature of the church in the present day, that 
great exertions are made to spread abroad the savour of 
Christ's name among the heathen : our missionaries are 
sent forth to evangelize the world, but we frustrate their 
efforts to a very considerable extent, if we do not labour to 
evangelize the seamen who convey them. Seamen will of 
course be looked upon as samples of religion : and it is 
not to be wondered at, that the heathen should prefer their 
own superstitions, when they witness the cruelties, pro- 
fanities, and debaucheries of those who profess and call 
themselves Christians. It must run thus in the mind of a 
reflecting savage, '* These men are brethren ; so their com- 
plexion, language, and manners declare, and one of them 
is a teacher of religion : we may judge, then, from his com- 
panions, what is the nature and excellence of the religion 
he teaches, and wherein it excels our own ;" but if it be ob- 
jected that his companions have not received his religion, 
it will very naturally be suggested to the mind of the savage, 
'* but if these men, who are in every respect so much bet- 
ter qualified to judge of its merits, reject the Christian reli- 
gion, how can it be expected that we should embrace it ?" 

It is, alas ! a too w^ell established fact, that our own sea- 
men are among the most inveterate enemies the gospel 
meets with in those countries. Heathenism favours licen- 
tiousness, Christianity forbids it : therefore, these men are 
angry with its holy interference, and endeavour to excite 
opposition against it, and render its ministers contemptible. 

The great obstacles which the religion of our crucified 
Lord meets with in the world, are to be found in the ungodly 
lives of those who profess his name ; in the opposition 
which the gospel encounters in Christian countries, (so 
called,) there is a mixture of strength ; its enemies are its 
professed friends ; it is the opposition of creed and prac- 

261 



262 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOJJS KNOWLEDGE. 

tice, of the belief and of the life, that wounds llie very 
vitals of Christianity among ourselves: the arguments with 
which our holy religion is foiled and stripped of her glory 
here, are drav/n from the character and conduct of those 
who profess to believe in her divinity, and the whole 
amount of her failure is charged upon those who '' having 
the form of godliness, deny the power thereof." 

But send the gospel to the heathen accompanied only by 
men who have experienced and can illustrate its saving 
power ; men who can say, each one for himself, " I am not 
ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God 
unto salvation to every one that believeth :" men, that 
can illustrate that power in their tempers and conduct, and 
in the whole uniform tenor of a renew^ed and sanctified life ; 
to whom your missionaries can point as proofs, that " what- 
soever things are pure, whatsoever things are just, what- 
soever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good 
report," are the natural and spontaneous fruits of the reli- 
gion of Jesus Christ, and then shall we see a nation born 
at once, and those parts of the earth bring forth in one day. 
Behold how swift the progress, how rapid the triumphs of 
the gospel, thus accompanied by evidence of its truth and 
divinity, and encountering nothing but the darkness and 
weakness (we say, for that which is wholly evil, is essen- 
tial weakness) of idolatry, rapid as the triumphs of morn- 
ing over the gloom of night, swift as the headlong torrent 
over the bending osier. 

And is not tiiis the way to bring on the latter-day glory ? 
for if whole nations of ignorant, idolatrous, vicious hea- 
thens were thus brought under the light and influence of 
the gospel, and were thus made to exhibit to the world tlie 
power, and spirituality, and glory of Christianity, would 
not this do more to overthrow the skepticism, and infidelity, 
and formality that have overrun Christendom, than any 
thing else would do. 

Tiiere are traits in the character of a seaman essential to 
that of a missionary: their benevolence is great; they 
have long been proverbial for generosity ; the pure element 
on which they live seems to have engendered it; just as 
the pestilential vapour of large cities, in which men are so 
crowded together, that they seem to fancy they may be 
excused for living upon one another, appears to engender 
avarice, and covetousness, and fraud, and injustice, and 



SEAMEN THE BEST MISSIONARIES. 263 

Oppression, and the other forms of robbery. But generosity, 
especially a seaman's generosity, is a quality very distinct 
from benevolence and beneficeiice ; they are the legitimate 
offspring of Christianity, but it is astonishing what a much 
more healthy appearance they bear when found grafted upon 
a disposition naturally generous. 

Nor are seamen wanting in zeal ; and they have withal 
a brave fearlessness, which is of singular service in a good 
cause. O, how has Christianity suffered from the timid- 
ity and cowardice of some of its professors ! — but coward- 
ice and seamen are terms that cannot be associated ; his 
constant exposure to peril seems to have given to the mari- 
ner a kind of constitutional bravery ; he is reckless of con- 
sequences in the pursuit of his favourite passion, and he 
has learned to laugh at that which would fill the stoutest 
heart with fear. He whose very sport it is to WM'estle with 
the elements, and with coolest intrepidity to face a thousand 
forms of most appalling danger, and cut his w^ay through 
the very jaws of death — who sings his careless song 
amidst the tempest's wildest rage, and fearlessly mans the 
yards when the ship lies on her beam-ends — he possesses 
perhaps the truest sort of courage uninspired by Heaven. 

Now send these bold, courageous, zealous, generous 
men abroad ; and what will be the result ? Nay, you do 
send them! Where is the port that is not visited by 
seamen ? where is the shore that bears not tlie print of 
their feet? But, alas! they are not Christian seamen; 
their good qualities have not been sanctified and pressed 
into the service of religion ; the soil of heathen lands is 
stained with their crimes ; they have made our holy religion 
to stink in the nostrils of the heathen. But let them be 
converted, and every seaman who leaves our ports will be 
the world's missionary. O ! this ivill be scattering the pre- 
cious seed with a liberal hand, and over a wide space truly 
— this will be pressing into the service of the gospel a 
mighty host of men, whose adaptation to the work of 
extending Messiah's kingdom is greater than is by many 
imagined. 

To convert a seamen is to do far more towards evange- 
lizing the world, than to convert almost any other man: for 
a landsman has comparatively few opportunities of advocat- 
ing the gospel ; small is the circle through which his benevo- 
lence may range ; circumscribed within the limits of the 



264 MUSEUM OF RELIGIOUS KNOWLEDGE. 

town or neighbourhood in which he dwells, few compara- 
tively are the individuals with whom he, through the course 
of his whole life, comes in contact; and against his con- 
tracted labours lies the whole force of that discouraging 
truth, '' a prophet is not without honour, save in his own 
country." But that which applies w^ith so discouraging a 
force against a landsman, applies in the same ratio of encou- 
ragement to the seaman ; for he has no country, no location, 
before him ; the whole population of the teeming earth 
passes, and people of every colour and of every clime are 
his neighbours, with whom he keeps up a constant corres- 
pondence ; the opportunities therefore presented to him of 
diffusing abroad the savour of Christ's name, are such as 
are presented to no other man living. 

And let us not forget that seamen have souls to be saved. 
If there be one class of men more than another that have 
claims on the whole community, it is seamen : by their 
means a thousand of the luxuries, a thousand of the conve- 
niences of life are procured — the clothes we wear, and the 
food we eat, in part come to us by this channel ; and how 
many are the privations which they endure, who sail around 
the earth to minister to our gratification and comfort. 

Think of the pains of an apprenticeship to this perilous 
calling — think of the stripling torn from the side of a tender 
motlier, and driven aloft on a stormy night — see him cling- 
ing with frost-bitten fingers to the cold wet shrouds, while 
the sweeping blast, as it gathers around his frighted form, 
threatens to fling him far on the angry main, and the dash- 
ing spray, as it blinds his eyes, makes him think the billows 
are climbing after him to destroy him. Think of his agony 
and terror, brought from the lap of his mother to be cradled 
in that storm, aloft on the reeling mast, while the wind, as 
it whistles in the rigging, in his idea makes cruel sport of 
his sorrow. 

But religion would prove an aegis to preserve him ; reli- 
gion would administer strong consolation and powerful sup- 
port under the privations and perils to which he is exposed ; 
it would break sweedy in upon the monotony of his life, 
and throw over every day that sacred, joyous charm, which 
the grace of heaven only can impart. 

Give then to the mariner religion — that religion which is 
salvation — salvation from his fears — salvation from his vices ! 

THE END. 



frR^' 



